ii. I         —     1       ' I        5     _. 


E.  BLYJNOHfJRD 


400E 


"Talbofs    Angels'' 

A  m  y 
sty). 

a  i  harming   romair 
Southern    !i;V.      Talbofs    Angles 

itifxii    old    •  -iate    on    th. 
shore  of  Maryland. 

The    dtath    of    UK;    owner    and    th. 
ensuing    legal       troubles       render      ii 
•-•sary  for  our  heroine,  the  presen; 
owner,    to    U;ave   the   pi;  h;;: 

in  her  fan.iiy  for  hundreds  o 
years'  and  endeavor  to  earn  her  owi 
livir.gr.  Anoti  nt  t'-u-  th< 

•'••rty  appearing  on  tho  sc 
• -'S    mutters    '•till    rno;>. 
The    untanglint,    of    this    mixed    ui 
>n  of  affairs.  toi?eth.T  with  th- 
of    this    «-'Xtr"ni"]y    inter- 
(  sting  <  ountry    -vith   its  (,naiiit   h" 
lilled  v.-ith  beautiful  old  furniture  and 
Ki'\er.    its    hos'pjtable    hostesses,    and 
;in«-    old    mammies,    make   an    ex- 
tremely   interest  ii;j-    si.nry.      The    tale. 
of  course,   ends  in   the   '•r.!tni:ia t.ion  of 
> arming    ;  In      \vhii-h      the 

1  rupei-tv    is    re.-i'irei.l    to    th. 

TAI.I.O" 

:1,      I/Ubiit'll- 


era. 


TALBOTS  ANGLES 


I    AM    AS    PROUD    AS    CAN    BE    OF    YOU. 

FRONTISPIECE  (Page  147). 


TALBOTS  ANGLES 


BY 
AMY  E.  BLANCHARD 

Author  of  "  A  Journey  of  Joy,"  "  Wits'  End" 
"  The  Glad  Lady,"  etc. 


BOSTON 

DANA   ESTES    fc?    COMPANY 
PUBLISHERS 


Copyright, 
BY  DANA  ESTES  &  COMPANY 

Alt  rights  reserved 


Printed  by 

THE      COLONIAL      PRESSt 
C.H.  Simonds  CBk  Co.,  Boston,  U  .S.  A. 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.    AT  END  OF  DAY 9 

II.    A  CLINGING  VINE 21 

III.  LEAVING  THE  NEST , 35 

IV.  DEPARTED  DAYS 48 

V.    THE  ALARM 61 

VI.    AN  INQUISITIVE  NEIGHBOR 75 

VII.    WAS  IT  CURIOSITY? 89 

VIII.    A  DISCLOSURE 105 

IX.    THE  LETTERS  ON  THE  TRUNK 118 

X.    PURSUING  CLUES 132 

XL    A  NEWSPAPER 145 

XII.    A  BRACE  OF  DUCKS 157 

XIII.  AN  ANCESTRAL  PILGRIMAGE 170 

XIV.  Two   BUGGIES 185 

XV.    A  DISTINCT  SENSATION 199 

XVI.    BEGONE,  DULL  CARE 213 

XVII.    As  WATER  UNTO  WINE .  228 

XVIII.    THE  DELIBERATE  CONSCIENCE 245 

XIX.    OF  WHAT  AVAIL? 262 

XX.    "  THE  SPRING  HAS  COME  "          277 


2134196 


ILLUSTRATIONS 


"  I  AM  AS  PROUD  AS  CAN  BE  OF  YOU."  (Page  147)  Frontispiece 
SCOLDING  AWAY    "  JES  LAK  AN  OLE  BLUE  JAY,"    DE- 
CLARED JAKE 38 

"  DON'T  SHOOT!  " 71 

"BUT  YOU  MUST  NOT  CALL  ME  COUSIN!"    .        .        .  115 
"  You  DON'T  IMAGINE  HE  HAS  FALLEN  IN  LOVE  WITH 

GRACE,  DO  YOU?  " 164 

"  HE    HAS    GIVEN    ME   THE   DEAREST    RING."    .          .          .  225 

"  HER   GAZE    FELL   ON   THE   TWO."     .           .          .     ,    .     ~    .  289 


TALBOT'S  ANGLES 


CHAPTER  I 

THE  END  OF  A  DAY 

The  sun  was  very  low  in  the  west  and  the  even- 
ing colors  were  staining  the  creek  whose  quiet 
waters  ran  between  flat  lands  to  be  carried  out  to 
the  river  further  on,  which,  in  its  turn,  found  the 
broader  bay.  The  arms  of  one  or  two  ancient 
windmills,  which  had  been  moving  lazily  in  the 
breeze,  made  a  few  rotations  and  then  stopped, 
showing  themselves  dark  objects  against  a  glow- 
ing sky.  An  old  church,  embowered  by  tall  trees, 
caught  some  of  the  evening  glow  upon  its  ancient 
brick  walls,  and  in  the  dank  long  grass  gray  head- 
stones glimmered  out  discovering  the  graveyard. 
Beyond  the  church  the  sparkling  creek  murmured 
gently.  A  few  turkey-buzzards  cast  weird  shad- 
ows as  they  circled  slowly  overhead  or  dropped 
with  slanting  wing  to  perch  upon  the  chimneys  of 
a  long  low  house  which  stood  not  many  rods  from 
the  weather-stained  church.  One  reached  the 


jo  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

church  by  way  of  a  green  lane,  and  along  this  lane 
was  now  coming  Linda  Talbot,  a  girl  above  medium 
height  whose  dark  hair  made  her  fine  fair  skin  look 
the  fairer  by  contrast.  Her  eyes  were  downcast 
so  that  one  could  not  discern  their  depth  of  violet 
blue,  but  one  could  note  the  long  black  lashes,  the 
well-shaped  brows  and  the  rounded  chin.  Just  now 
her  lips  were  compressed  so  the  lines  of  her  mouth 
could  not  be  determined  upon.  She  walked  slowly, 
never  once  raising  her  eyes  toward  the  sparkling 
creek  and  the  sunset  sky.  But  once  beyond  the  gate 
opening  from  the  lane,  she  stood  and  looked  around, 
taking  in  the  view  which  included  the  windmills 
raising  protesting  arms,  the  fields  where  lately,  corn 
had  been  stacked,  the  long  low  brown  house. 
Upon  this  last  her  eyes  lingered  long  and  lovingly, 
observing  the  quaint  lines,  the  low  sloping  roof, 
the  small-paned  windows,  the  chimneys  at  each 
end,  the  porch  running  the  length  of  the  building, 
each  detail  so  familiar,  so  dearly  loved,  and  now 
passing  from  her. 

She  gave  her  head  a  little  quick  shake  as  if  to 
scatter  the  thoughts  assailing  her,  then  she  moved 
more  quickly  toward  the  house,  but  passing  around 
to  the  kitchen  rather  than  entering  by  way  of  the 
porch.  An  old  colored  woman  was  picking  crabs 
at  a  table  near  the  window.  "Gwine  give  yuh  some 
crab  cakes  fo'  suppah,  Miss  Lindy,"  she  announced, 
looking  up.  "Dark  ketch  me  fo'  I  git  'em  done 


THE  END  OF  A  DAY  n 

I  specs,  dat  no  'count  Jake  so  long  gittin'  'em  hyar. 
He  de  no  countines'  niggah  evah  I  did  see.  Thinks 
he  ain't  got  nothin*  to  do  but  set  'roun'  rollin'  his 
eyes  at  de  gals." 

"Get  me  an  apron,  Mammy,"  said  Linda,  "and 
I'll  help  you." 

"Go  'long,  Miss  Lindy.  'Tain't  no  need  o' 
dat." 

"But  I'd  like  to,"  persisted  the  girl  feeling  re- 
lief at  not  immediately  being  obliged  to  seek  other 
society  than  that  of  the  old  colored  woman  to  whom 
she  had  brought  her  troubles  from  babyhood. 

Enveloped  in  a  huge  gingham  apron,  she  sat 
down  to  her  task,  but  was  so  much  more  silent  than 
was  her  wont  that  the  old  woman  from  time  to 
time,  raised  her  eyes  to  watch  her  furtively. 

Presently  she  could  stand  it  no  longer.  "Wha' 
de  matter,  honey?"  she  asked  solicitously.  "Yuh 
got  sumpin  mo'  on  yo'  min'  dat  honin'  fo'  Mars 
Martin." 

Linda  dropped  crab  and  fork  into  the  dish  of 
crab  meat,  rested  her  arms  on  the  table  and  hid  her 
face  in  them  that  Phebe  should  not  see  the  tears 
she  could  no  longer  keep  back. 

"Dere,  honey,  dere  baby,"  crooned  Phebe.  "Tell 
yo'  ole  Mammy  all  about  it.  Wha'  she  been  a  doin' 
to  Mammy's  honey  chile  ?" 

Linda  lifted  her  tearful  eyes.  "Oh,  Mammy,  I 
can't  stand  it.  I  must  go." 


12  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

Phebe's  hands  shook.  "What  yuh  mean,  chile?" 
she  asked  with  a  tremor  in  her  voice. 

"I  mean  I  must  earn  my  own  living.  Phebe,  I 
shall  have  to.  Oh,  Mammy,  you  know  I  cannot 
blame  my  brother,  but  if  he  had  only  left  a  little, 
just  a  little  for  my  very  own.  If  he  had  not  made 
the  conditions  so  hard." 

"Tell  Mammy  agin  jes'  how  yuh  stan's,  honey/' 
said  Phebe  soberly. 

"It's  this  way,  Mammy.  The  place  is  left  to 
Grace  and  me.  As  long  as  she  chooses  to  make  it 
her  home  I  am  to  live  here.  If  Grace  marries  she 
forfeits  her  right  to  it,  but  while  she  remains  a 
widow  she  has  a  claim  to  the  whole  farm,  the  crops, 
everything.  I  am  permitted  only  a  place  to  sleep 
and  enough  to  eat,  and  if  she  elects  not  to  stay  here, 
what  am  I  to  do?  I  cannot  keep  up  an  establish- 
ment on  nothing,  can  I?  Oh,  Mammy,  I  did  try, 
you  know  I  did,  while  Martin  lived,  I  tried  to  be 
patient  and  good.  It  hurt  more  than  anyone  knew 
when  he  brought  home  a  silly  pretty  girl  to  take 
my  place,  to  show  a  petty  jealousy  of  me.  You 
know  how  I  used  to  delight  in  saving  that  I  might 
buy  something  for  Christmas  or  birthdays  that  he 
particularly  wanted.  Every  little  possession  meant 
some  sacrifice,  and  when,  one  by  one,  all  the  little 
treasured  things  that  I  had  scrimped  and  saved  to 
get  for  him,  when  they  were  shoved  out  of  sight 
and  something  took  their  place  that  she  had  bought, 


THE  END  OF  A  DAY  13 

I  never  said  a  word  though  it  did  hurt.  We  were 
such  comrades,  Mart  and  I,  and  I  was  only  a 
school  girl  when  I  began  to  keep  house  for  him  and 
he  came  to  me  with  all  his  confidences.  We  used 
to  talk  over  the  crops,  the  investments,  this,  that, 
the  other  thing,  and  it  seemed  as  if  it  must  always 
be  so  until — " 

"Yas,  honey,  yas,  I  knows."  Phebe  spoke  sooth- 
ingly. 

"She  was  jealous  of  every  little  thing,"  Linda 
went  on.  "She  was  very  sweet  and  appealing,  al- 
ways calling  me  'dear  little  sister'  to  Mart  and 
gradually  weaning  him  from  me  and  my  interests, 
subtly  poisoning  his  mind — No,  not  that  exactly, 
but  making  him  believe  he  was  such  a  wonderful 
brother  to  give  me  a  home,  to  support  me.  She 
never  ceased  to  praise  him  for  what  she  told  him 
was  his  great  unselfishness.  She  never  ceased  to 
put  me  in  the  light  of  a  dependent  who  had  no 
real  right  to  what  he  gave.  It  used  to  be  share 
and  share  alike,  Mammy,  and  Mart  used  to  be  the 
one  to  praise  me  for  making  a  cheerful  home.  He 
used  to  say  that  he  would  work  day  and  night 
rather  than  have  me  go  out  into  the  world  to  make 
my  living,  but,  Mammy — to-day — Grace  said  I 
ought  to  do  it,  and  I  must,  for  she  is  going  to  the 
city  for  the  winter." 

"Law,  honey!  Law,  honey!  Mah  li'l  baby!" 
groaned  Mammy.  "Yo'  ma  an'  pa'll  riz  up  in  dere 


14  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

grabes  ef  yuh  does  dat.  Ain't  it  yo'  home  'fore 
it  hers  ?  Ain't  yo'  gran'daddy  an'  you  gre't-gran'- 
daddy  live  hyar?  Ain't  yuh  de  one  dat  has  de 
mostes'  right?" 

"Yes,  Mammy,  dear,  in  the  ordinary  order  of 
things  it  would  be  so,  but  you  know  the  place  was 
mortgaged  up  to  the  last  dollar  and  it  was  Mart 
who  lifted  the  mortgage  and  made  the  farm  all 
his  before  father  died.  According  to  the  law  I 
have  no  part  nor  parcel  in  it  except  what  he  chose 
to  leave  me.  Poor  dear  Mart,  he  was  so  blind, 
he  thought  never  was  such  a  wife  as  Grace;  he 
couldn't  see  that  she  worked  steadily,  cleverly,  cun- 
ningly all  the  time  to  build  a  barrier  between  us, 
to  chain  him  fast,  to  make  him  see  through  her  eyes, 
to  make  me  appear  a  poor,  weak  incapable  creature 
who  ought  to  be  left  in  her  guardianship.  Well, 
she  succeeded;  my  darling  brother,  whose  thought 
was  always  for  me,  made  his  will  in  such  a  way  as 
to  render  me  homeless." 

"Lord,  have  mercy,"  groaned  Mammy,  rocking 
back  and  forth,  the  crabs  unheeded  in  their  pan. 

"Oh,  he  was  innocent  enough,  poor  dear,"  Linda 
went  on  quickly.  "He  couldn't  see  anything  but 
that  it  would  be  a  fine  thing  for  us  two  to  live 
together  like  loving  sisters  always.  I  would  be 
Grace's  right  hand ;  she  would  be  my  kind  elder  sis- 
ter. That  is  the  way  it  looked  to  him.  He  couldn't 
see  through  her  little  deceits.  How  could  he  know 


THE  END  OF  A  DAY  15 

that  her  smiles  covered  a  jealous,  grasping  nature? 
How  could  he  know  that  six  months  after  he  left 
us  she  would  practically  turn  me  out-of-doors,  that 
she  would  tell  me  I  could  not  expect  anything  more 
than  food  and  shelter  for  part  of  the  year,  and  that 
she  intended  to  spend  her  winters  with  her  family 
and  only  her  summers  here?" 

"Ain't  it  de  troof  ?"  ejaculated  Mammy. 

Having  for  the  first  time  poured  forth  her  griev- 
ances to  a  sympathetic  ear,  Linda  was  not  disposed 
to  stop  the  torrent  which  gave  her  relief.  "She 
told  me  that  it  was  for  my  sake  as  well  as  her  own, 
and  that  she  thought  I  would  be  much  happier  if 
I  were  to  make  myself  entirely  independent,  all  with 
that  solicitous  manner  as  if  she  lay  awake  nights 
thinking  of  my  welfare.  Oh,  no  one  but  you, 
Mammy,  who  have  seen  it,  could  realize  the  thou- 
sand little  pin  pricks  that  I  have  endured." 

"Yas,  honey,  I  knows;  Mammy  knows,"  re- 
sponded the  old  woman  gravely.  "But  lemme  tell 
yuh  right  now,  ef  yuh  leaves  de  ole  place,  I  leaves 
it." 

"Oh,  no,  Mammy,"  Linda  spoke  in  alarm,  "Mas- 
ter Mart  wouldn't  like  you  to  do  that." 

"I  ain't  thinkin'  so  much  about  Marster  Mart 
as  I  is  o'  my  baby,  an'  huccome  she  goes  away. 
I  ain't  thinkin'  so  much  o'  him  as  I  am  o'  mah  ole 
mistis,  yo'  grandma.  Yuh  reckon  she  think  I 
'bleedged  to  stay?  No,  ma'am,  dat  she  don't. 


16  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

'Sides,  honey,  I  reckons  by  dis  time  de  angels  done 
cl'ar  yo'  brudder's  eyes  o'  de  wool  what  been  pull 
over  dem  dese  two  ye'rs  pas',  an'  I  reckons  he 
a-sayin'  to  his  own  daddy  an'  ma',  de  ole  place  ain't 
de  same  nohow,  an'  po'  li'l  sis  she  need  her  ole 
Mammy  Phebe,  wharever  she  go!" 

At  these  words,  Linda  quite  broke  down  again, 
but  this  time  she  hid  her  face  on  Phebe's  shoulder 
and  was  patted  gently  with  many  soothing  words 
of,  "Dere,  honey,  dere  now,  baby,  don'  cry;  de  good 
Lord  gwine  look  arfter  yuh." 

After  a  few  minutes  Linda  raised  her  head  to 
say,  "Grace's  sister  is  coming  down  to  help  her 
close  the  house.  They  mean  to  leave  before 
Christmas  and  Phillips  will  manage  the  place.  I 
haven't  told  you  yet  what  I  mean  to  do.  I  had  a 
letter  to-day  from  Mr.  Willis  and  he  thinks  I  can 
have  a  position  in  one  of  the  schools,  for  one  of  the 
teachers  is  going  to  be  married  and  he  will  do  all 
he  can  to  get  me  her  place." 

"Dat  up  in  town?" 

"Yes,  it  will  be  in  the  primary  department,  and 
I  shall  have  a  class  of  little  boys." 

"Humph!"  Mammy  expressed  her  disdain. 
"Whar  yuh  gwine  live?" 

"I  shall  have  to  board  somewhere,  of  course." 

The  old  woman's  face  fell.  "I  hopes  I  ain't  live 
to  see  mah  ole  mistis'  gran'child  bo'din'  in  a  com- 
mon bo'din'  house,  'thout  no  lady  to  give  her  coun- 


THE  END  OF  A  DAY  17 

tenance  an'  make  it  proper  fo'  her  beaux  to  come 
an'  see  her.  No,  ma'am,  I  hopes  I  ain't  live  to 
see  dat." 

"But,  Mammy,  what  can  I  do?  I  haven't  any 
very  near  relatives  down  here,  you  know,  and  none 
nearly  related  anywhere,  certainly  not  near  enough 
for  me  to  invite  myself  to  their  homes.  I  can't 
afford  a  chaperone,  and  besides  I  am  sure  I  am 
well  enough  known  in  town  to  be  treated  with  re- 
spect wherever  I  may  happen  to  live." 

"I  ain't  say  yuh  isn't,  but  what  I  do  say  is  dat 
it  ain't  fittin'  an'  proper  fo'  one  of  de  fambly  to  go 
off  to  bo'd  thes  anywhar  lak  common  folks." 

"Then  please  to  tell  me  what  I  am  to  do.  Pshaw ! 
Mammy,  it's  nonsense  to  talk  as  if  I  were  a  princess. 
We've  got  to  face  facts — plain,  every-day  facts.  I 
must  make  my  living,  and  I  am  lucky  to  be  able 
to  do  it  in  a  nice,  ladylike  way,  in  my  own  town  and 
among  my  own  friends/' 

Mammy  began  to  pick  at  the  crabs  again,  work- 
ing away  sullenly.  She  knew  these  were  facts,  but 
she  rebelled  against  the  existence  of  them.  She 
thought  seriously  over  the  situation  for  some  min- 
utes. "If  yuh  goes,  I  goes,"  at  last  she  reiterated. 
"Miss  Ri  Hill  she  tell  me  laughin'  like,  mo'  times 
dan  one,  'When  yuh  wants  a  place,  Phebe,  mah 
kitchen  ready  fo'  yuh.'  She  ain't  think  I  uvver 
leave  yuh-alls,  but  I  knows  she  tek  me  ef  she  kin 
git  me." 


i8  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

"Miss  Ri  Hill!  Why,  Mammy,  that  is  an  inspi- 
ration. She  is  the  very  one.  Perhaps  she  will 
take  me  in,  too,"  cried  Linda. 

"Praise  de  Lord!  Ain't  it  de  troof  now ?  Co'se 
she  tek  yuh.  'Tain'  nobody  think  mo'  o'  yuh  dan 
Miss  Ri.  She  yo'  ma's  bridesmaid,  an'  yuh  always 
gre't  fav'ite  o'  hers.  Dat  mek  it  cl'ar  as  day.  She 
yuh-alls  kin*  an*  she  stan'  fo'  yuh  lak  home  folks. 
When  yuh  gwine,  Miss  Lindy?" 

"Oh,  pretty  soon,  I  think." 

Just  here  the  door  opened  and  a  high-pitched, 
rather  sweet,  but  sentimentally  pathetic  voice  said, 
"Phebe,  have  you  forgotten  that  it  is  nearly  supper 
time?  Linda,  dear,  is  that  you?  I  wouldn't  hin- 
der Phebe  just  now.  I  was  wondering  where  you 
were.  I  saw  you  walking  about  so  energetically 
and  am  so  glad  you  can  take  pleasure  in  outside 
things,  for  of  course  I  couldn't  expect  you  to  appre- 
ciate my  loneliness,  a  young  girl  like  you  is  always 
so  buoyant."  A  plaintive  sigh  followed,  as  Grace 
Talbot  turned  to  go.  She  was  a  fair,  plump  young 
woman  with  an  appealing  expression,  a  baby  mouth 
and  wide-open  eyes  in  which  it  was  her  effort  to 
maintain  a  look  of  childish  innocence.  "Do  try 
to  have  supper  promptly,  Phebe,"  she  said  as  she 
reached  the  door.  "Of  course,  I  don't  care  for  my- 
self, as  I  eat  very  little,  but  Miss  Linda  must  be 
hungry  after  her  walk." 

Phebe  gave  a   suggestive   shrug  and  muttered 


THE  END  OF  A  DAY  19 

something  under  her  breath  about  "snakes  in  the 
grass,"  while  Linda,  with  a  sad  little  smile  of  depre- 
cation, followed  her  sister-in-law  through  the  irreg- 
ular rooms,  up  a  step  here,  down  there,  till  the 
parlor  was  reached.  Here  an  open  fire  was  burn- 
ing dully,  for,  though  it  was  early  fall,  the  even- 
ings were  chill  even  in  this  latitude,  and  Grace 
was  a  person  who  loved  warmth.  Creature  com- 
forts meant  much  to  her,  a  certain  chair,  a  special 
seat  at  table,  a  footstool,  a  cushion  at  her  back, 
these  she  had  made  necessities,  and  had  demanded 
them  in  the  way  which  would  most  appeal  to  her 
husband,  while  later,  for  the  sake  of  harmony, 
Linda  had  followed  his  precedent. 

Grace  now  sank  into  her  chair  by  the  fire,  put 
her  head  back  against  the  cushion  and  closed  her 
eyes.  "Linda,  dear,"  she  said,  "would  you  mind 
seeing  if  there  is  more  wood?  One  gets  so  chilly 
when  one's  vitality  is  low,  and  I  am  actually  shiv- 
ering." 

Silently  Linda  went  to  the  wood  box,  brought 
a  log,  stirred  the  fire  and  started  a  cheerful  blaze, 
then  sat  down  in  a  dim  corner,  resting  elbows  on 
knees,  chin  in  hands. 

"Where  were  you  walking?"  asked  Grace  pres- 
ently, stretching  herself  like  some  sleek  animal  in 
the  warmth  of  the  fire. 

"I  went  to  the  graveyard,"  replied  Linda  slowly. 

Grace  shivered  slightly.     "What  strong  nerves 


20  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

you  have.  I  simply  cannot  bear  to  do  such  things ; 
I  am  so  sensitive.  I  cannot  endure  those  reminders 
of  my  loss.  You  are  so  different,  but,  of  course,  all 
natures  are  not  the  same.  I  saw  you  talking  to 
Phillips.  I  am  glad  to  know  that  you  can  still  take 
an  interest  in  the  place,  but  as  for  me  it  is  too  sad  to 
talk  over  those  things  which  were  always  a  con- 
cern of  my  dear  husband's.  I  cannot  face  details 
yet.  My  sorrow  consumes  all  my  thoughts  and 
outside  matters  have  no  place  in  them.  I  suppose," 
she  added  in  a  weary  voice,  "everything  is  going 
on  all  right  or  you  would  tell  me." 

"Everything  is  right  so  far  as  I  can  judge,"  re- 
turned Linda;  "but  I  would  advise  you  to  rouse 
yourself  to  take  an  interest  soon,  Grace,  for  I  shall 
not  be  here." 

"Are  you  really  going  soon  ?"  asked  Grace,  open- 
ing her  eyes. 

It  was  Linda's  impulse  to  say,  "I  hope  so,"  but 
she  refrained.  "I  think  so,"  she  answered.  "I 
will  tell  you  just  when  after  I  have  definite  infor- 
mation." 

"Please  don't  be  so  secretive,"  said  Grace  a  little 
sharply.  "You  must  consider  that  I  have  my  own 
arrangements  to  make  and  that  it  is  due  me  to  know 
your  plans  as  soon  as  they  are  made." 

"I  will  tell  you  as  soon  as  they  are  settled,"  re- 
turned Linda  stoutly.  Here  Phebe  came  in  to  an- 
nounce supper  and  the  conversation  ended. 


CHAPTER   II 

THE    CLINGING   VINE 

When,  two  years  earlier,  Martin  Talbot  brought 
his  wife  to  the  old  family  homestead  of  Talbot's 
Angles,  Linda  determined  to  make  the  best  of  the 
situation.  If  it  was  for  Martin's  happiness  to 
marry  the  pretty,  rather  underbred,  wholly  self- 
centered  Grace  Johnson,  his  sister  would  not  be  the 
one  to  offer  disillusionment.  Grace  was  from  the 
city,  dressed  well,  had  dependent  little  ways  which 
appealed  to  just  such  a  manly  person  as  Martin. 
She  made  much  of  him,  demanded  his  presence 
continually,  cooed  to  him  persuasively  when  he 
would  be  gone,  pouted  if  he  stayed  too  long,  wept 
if  he  chided  her  for  being  a  baby,  but  under  her 
apparent  softness  there  was  obstinacy,  and  the  set 
purpose  of  a  jealous  nature. 

Between  Linda  and  her  brother  there  had  always 
been  good  comradeship,  but  not  much  over-demon- 
stration of  affection.  Each  felt  that  the  other  was 
to  be  depended  upon,  that  in  moments  of  stress,  or 
in  emergency  there  would  be  no  holding  back,  and 
consequently  Martin  expected  nothing  less  than 
that  Linda  should  accept  a  new  sister-in-law 

21 


22  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

serenely,  should  make  no  protests.  In  fact,  he  was 
so  deeply  in  love  that,  as  is  the  way  of  mankind, 
he  could  not  conceive  that  anyone  should  not  be 
charmed  to  become  the  housemate  of  such  a  lovable 
creature  as  he  assumed  Grace  to  be,  one  so  warm- 
hearted, so  enchantingly  solicitous,  so  sweetly  wom- 
anish, and,  though  he  did  not  exactly  underrate 
Linda,  he  grew  to  smile  at  Grace's  little  whispers 
of  disparagement.  Linda  was  so  cold,  so  undemon- 
strative; Linda  was  so  thoughtless  of  dear  Martin. 
Why,  she  had  never  remarked  that  he  was  late  for 
dinner.  Wasn't  it  just  like  Linda  to  go  off  by 
herself  to  church  instead  of  walking  with  them? 
How  unappreciative  sisters  could  be  of  a  brother's 
sacrifices.  Not  every  brother  would  have  sup- 
ported his  sister  so  uncomplainingly  all  these  years, 
but  dear  Martin  was  such  an  unselfish  darling,  he 
never  once  thought  of  its  being  a  sacrifice,  and  that 
a  less  unselfish  man  would  expect  his  sister  to  take 
care  of  herself.  Martin  was  so  chivalrous,  and 
so  on. 

Therefore,  Linda's  days  of  devotion,  her  constant 
proofs  of  affection  told  in  acts  rather  than  in  reit- 
erated words,  her  hours  of  poring  over  accounts 
that  she  might  economize  as  closely  as  possible  in 
order  that  the  mortgage  might  the  sooner  be  paid, 
her  long  consultations  with  Mammy,  and  her  con- 
tinual mending,  patching,  turning,  contriving,  all 
were  forgotten  or  taken  for  granted  as  a  just  return 


THE  CLINGING  VINE  23 

for  her  support.  That  she  had  driven  to  town  and 
back  again,  seven  miles  each  way,  during  the  last 
years  of  her  school  life,  that  she  might  still  be  com- 
panion and  housekeeper  for  her  brother,  seemed  no 
great  matter  from  Grace's  point  of  view,  though  in 
those  days  themselves  there  had  been  many  a  pro- 
test against  the  necessitated  late  hours  that  were  the 
result  of  her  many  tasks,  and  "What  should  I  do 
without  my  little  sister  ?"  was  the  daily  question. 

There  was  no  lack  of  employment  for  Linda's 
hands,  even  after  Grace  came,  for  though  very  tena- 
cious of  her  prerogative  as  mistress  of  the  house, 
Grace  did  nothing  but  assume  a  great  air  of  being 
the  busy  housekeeper,  and  such  work  as  was  not 
done  by  Phebe,  fell  to  Linda's  share.  Martin  saw 
nothing  of  this,  for  Grace  would  bustle  in  with  a 
show  of  having  been  much  occupied,  would  throw 
herself  into  a  chair  with  a  pretence  of  fatigue,  cast 
her  eyes  innocently  at  Martin,  and  say,  "Oh,  I  am 
so  tired.  Housekeeping  in  the  country  is  so  diffi- 
cult, but  I  love  doing  it  for  you,  dear.  Can't  you 
stay  home  with  your  little  Gracie  this  afternoon?" 
And  Martin  would  stay  nine  times  out  of  ten,  with 
not  the  slightest  perception  of  the  fact  that  a  sur- 
face sentimentality  which  stands  in  the  way  of  the 
advancement  or  profit  of  another  is  worth  nothing 
by  the  side  of  the  year  in,  year  out  thought  and 
activity  in  those  little  things  which,  in  the  end, 
show  a  far  deeper  affection  than  any  clamor  for 


24  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

a  person's  presence  or  any  foolish  and  unmeaning 
words  of  praise. 

Linda's  pride  constrained  her  to  keep  all  these 
things  to  herself,  and  not  even  from  her  old  Mammy 
would  she  allow  criticism  of  her  brother  and  his 
wife.  Mammy,  be  it  said,  was  ready  enough  to 
grumble  at  the  new  order  of  things  to  Linda  her- 
self, but  it  was  not  till  the  burden  was  too  heavy  to 
bear  longer  in  silence  that  Linda  poured  forth  the 
grievances  to  which  no  one  could  listen  so  sym- 
pathetically as  Mammy.  Indeed,  no  one  could  have 
been  a  safer  listener,  for  Mammy's  pride  in  the 
family  was  as  great  as  Linda's  own,  and  she  would 
have  died  rather  than  have  noised  its  trouble 
abroad. 

Before  the  next  Sunday,  Linda  had  made  her  ar- 
rangements to  leave  her  old  home,  and  Grace's  eldest 
sister,  Lauretta,  had  arrived.  Lauretta  was  a  col- 
orless, well-meaning  person,  a  little  shaky  in  her 
English,  inclined  to  overdress,  with  no  pretension 
to  good  looks,  and  admiring  her  younger  sister  the 
more  because  of  her  own  lack  of  beauty.  Being 
less  of  the  spoiled  darling,  she  was  less  vain  and 
selfish,  less  wilful  and  obstinate,  but  was  ready  to 
reflect  Grace's  opinions,  as  born  of  a  superior  mind, 
so  she  quite  approved  of  Linda's  departure  and  pre- 
pared to  fit  into  her  place  as  soon  as  might  be, 
assuming  the  responsibilities  of  housekeeping  with 
perfect  good  will.  Of  Phebe's  departure  nothing 


THE  CLINGING  VINE  25 

more  had  been  said,  and  when  Linda  questioned 
the  old  woman  the  only  answer  she  received  was: 
"Ain't  a-sayin'  nuffin." 

However,  when  Linda  went  into  the  kitchen  one 
morning  and  remarked,  "Fm  going  up  to  town  to 
see  Miss  Ri  Hill,  Phebe,"  she  was  answered  by, 
"I  was  thes  a-thinkin'  I'd  go  up  mahse'f,  Miss 
Lindy." 

"How  were  you  going?" 

"Well,  honey,  I  kin  walk,  I  reckon." 

"You  will  do  no  such  thing.  I  intended  to  go  up 
in  the  buggy,  but  I  think  I  can  get  Jake  to  drive, 
and  you  can  go  along  in  the  surrey.  Have  you  said 
anything  to  Miss  Grace  about  going?" 

"No,  I  ain't,  an  I  ain't  a-gwineter.  I  been  hyar 
befo'  she  was  bo'n,  an'  she  nuvver  hire  me  nohow. 
I  ain't  got  no  call  to  say  nuffin.  When  I  goes,  I 
goes." 

Linda  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "But,  Mammy," 
she  said  presently,  "I  don't  feel  that  it  is  exactly 
right  for  you  to  do  that  way.  If  you  go  to  town 
with  me  to  see  about  a  place,  I  am  responsible  in  a 


measure." 


"No,  yuh  ain't.  Who  say  I  cain't  go  see  Miss 
Ri?  I  ain't  a-gwine  bag  an'  baggage.  Ef  I 
doesn't  go  with  yuh,  I  goes  on  Shanks's  mare." 

"But  who  will  get  dinner  to-day?" 

"I  reckon  I  kin  git  Popsy  to  come  in  an'  git 
it," 


26  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

"Well,  go  along"  and  find  out,  for  I  want  to  get 
off  pretty  soon." 

Mammy  put  a  discarded  felt  hat  of  Martin  Tal- 
bot's  upon  her  head,  and  an  old  table-cover  over 
her  shoulders,  then  sallied  forth  down  the  road  in 
search  of  the  woman  whose  little  cabin  was  one  of 
a  number  belonging  to  a  negro  settlement  not  far 
off.  Trips  to  town  were  so  infrequent  upon  Phebe's 
part,  and  she  demanded  so  few  afternoons  out,  that 
what  she  wanted  was  generally  conceded  her,  and 
though  Grace  pouted  and  said  she  didn't  see  why 
both  Linda  and  Phebe  should  be  away  at  the  same 
time,  Lauretta  smoothed  her  down  by  saying: 
"Oh,  never  mind,  Gracie  dear,  I  have  no  doubt  the 
other  servant  will  do  very  well,  and  we'll  have  a 
nice  cosey  day  together.  I  can  see  to  everything, 
and  it  will  give  me  a  good  chance  to  poke  around. 
Old  Phebe  is  such  a  martinet,  she  won't  allow  me 
inside  the  kitchen  when  she  is  here." 

"She  certainly  is  a  regular  tyrant,"  admitted 
Grace,  "but  no  one  can  cook  better,  and  I  am  glad 
to  keep  her,  for  down  here  it  is  hard  to  get  com- 
petent servants;  they  are  all  more  or  less  inde- 
pendent." 

"Her  being  away  to-day  won't  make  much  differ- 
ence to  you  and  I,"  replied  Lauretta,  with  careful 
attention  to  her  pronoun.  She  was  always  very 
particular  never  to  say  you  and  me.  "I'm  not  a 
bad  cook  myself,  and  we  can  try  some  of  our  own 


THE  CLINGING  VINE  27 

home  recipes.  For  my  part,  I  should  think  you 
would  get  rather  tired  of  oysters  and  Maryland  bis- 
cuits." 

"I  do,"  returned  Grace  plaintively.  "Linda 
doesn't  always  consider  me  in  ordering.  Dear 
Martin  didn't  seem  to  notice  that  until  I  called  his 
attention  to  it." 

"I  don't  see  why  you  didn't  take  up  all  the  house- 
keeping at  the  very  first,"  responded  Lauretta. 

"Oh,  I  was  so  unused  to  it,  and  these  Eastern 
Shore  ways  were  so  unfamiliar.  Linda  under- 
stood them  much  better  than  I.  Besides,  it  would 
have  taken  up  so  much  of  the  time  I  might  want 
to  be  with  Martin."  She  sighed  deeply  and  wiped 
a  furtive  tear  before  going  on:  "Then,  too,"  she 
continued,  "I  didn't  want  to  neglect  my  friends,  and 
it  does  take  time  to  write  letters.  Everyone  always 
said  I  was  such  a  good  correspondent,  and  when 
anyone  is  in  trouble,  that  my  letters  are  so  sympa- 
thetic." 

Lauretta  changed  the  subject.  Even  in  her  sis- 
terly eyes  Grace  was  almost  too  eager  a  corre- 
spondent. "Why  has  Linda  gone  to  town?"  she 
asked.  "To  do  some  shopping?  I  suppose  she  will 
need  some  additions  to  her  wardrobe  now  she  is  in 
mourning  and  is  going  to  town  to  live." 

"Oh,  dear  no ;  she  is  not  going  to  do  any  shopping 
for  herself.  She  has  all  she  needs  for  the  present. 
I  gave  her  some  things,  and  she  will  soon  be  earn- 


28  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

ing  money  for  herself.  No;  she  has  gone  to  see 
about  a  boarding  place,  she  told  me,  and  she  has 
some  errands  for  me.  I  think  it  so  much  better 
to  give  her  occupation  just  now.  She  is  rather 
a  restless  person,  and  she  will  be  much  happier  than 
she  could  be  brooding  by  herself.  You  know,  Lau- 
retta dear,  Linda  is  not  so  very  companionable. 
She  hasn't  the  nice,  confidential  way  with  me  that 
I  have  with  my  sisters." 

"But  she  isn't  your  sister,"  returned  Lauretta 
bluntly. 

"Alas,  no.  Dear  Martin  hoped  we  would  be  con- 
genial, but  you  can  see  it  is  impossible.  I  wouldn't 
acknowledge  this  to  everyone,  Lauretta;  but  I 
always  feel  that  she  holds  herself  superior.  I  have 
seen  a  look  sometimes  that  made  me  want  to  box 
her  ears." 

Lauretta  kept  silence  a  moment  before  she  said: 
"The  Talbots  are  of  excellent  family,  Grace." 

"And  we  are  not,  you  mean.  That  is  between 
ourselves.  I  am  sure  I  try  to  impress  everyone 
with  the  belief  that  we  are,"  which  was  too  true, 
"and  though  our  grandparents  may  have  been  plain 
people,  Lauretta,  in  the  beginning,  they  did  have 
plenty  of  means  at  the  last ;  we  have  enough  of  their 
solid  silver  to  prove  that  fact,"  and  indeed  Grace's 
display  of  solid  silver  on  the  sideboard  at  Talbot's 
Angles  was  not  allowed  to  go  unnoticed  and  was 


THE  CLINGING  VINE  29 

her  most  cherished  possession,  one  of  which  she 
made  much  capital. 

"There  they  go,"  said  Lauretta,  looking  from  the 
small-paned  windows  to  see  the  carriage  turn  from 
the  driveway  into  the  road.  "I  may  be  wrong,  but 
it  does  seem  to  me  rather  like  turning  Linda  out  of 
house  and  home,  Grace,  doesn't  it?" 

"Oh,  dear,  no ;  you  are  quite  mistaken.  I  haven't 
a  doubt  but  she  would  much  rather  live  in  town.  I 
don't  credit  her  with  any  real  sentiment.  She  was 
as  calm  and  self-possessed  as  possible  when  Martin 
died,  while  I  went  from  one  fit  of  hysterics  into 
another.  She  can  do  things  which  would  upset  me 
completely.  Oh,  you  needn't  waste  your  sympathies 
upon  Linda;  it  is  I  who  am  the  real  sufferer." 

"You  poor  dear,"  murmured  Lauretta.  "I  am 
glad  you  have  decided  not  to  spend  your  winters 
in  this  lonely  place;  it  would  be  too  much  for  one 
of  your  sensitive  nature." 

This  was  balm  to  Grace,  and  she  cast  a  pathetic 
look  at  the  sister,  murmuring:  "It  is  so  sweet  to  be 
understood." 

Meanwhile  over  the  flat,  shell  road  Mammy  and 
Linda  were  travelling  toward  the  town.  Once  in 
a  while  a  thread  of  blue  creek  appeared  in  the  dis- 
tance beyond  fields  of  farmlands,  or  a  white  house 
glimmered  out  from  its  setting  of  tall  trees,  the 
masts  of  a  sailing  vessel  behind  it  giving  one  the 


30  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

feeling  that  he  was  looking  at  a  floating  farm,  or 
that  in  some  mysterious  way  a  vessel  had  been 
tossed  up  far  inland,  so  intersected  was  the  land 
with  little  creeks  and  inlets. 

Linda  knew  every  step  of  the  way;  to  Phebe  it 
was  less  familiar,  and  the  excitement  of  going  up 
to  town  was  an  unusual  one.  She  hugged  herself 
in  her  ample  shawl  and  directed,  criticised  and  ad- 
vised Jake  the  entire  distance.  Up  through  the 
shaded  streets  of  the  town  they  continued  until  they 
stopped  before  a  gate  leading  to  an  old  red  house 
which  faced  the  sapphire  river.  Here  lived  Miss 
Maria  Hill. 

Her  cheery  self  came  out  on  the  porch  to  meet 
them.  "Of  all  things,  Verlinda  Talbot !"  she  cried. 
"And  Phebe,  too.  Well,  this  is  a  surprise.  Come 
right  in.  You  are  going  to  stay  to  dinner  and  we 
will  have  a  good  old-fashioned  talk/'  She  never 
failed  to  call  Linda  by  the  quaint  name  which  had 
been  given  to  various  daughters  of  the  Talbot  fam- 
ily for  many  generations.  "Go  right  out  into  the 
kitchen,  Phebe,"  continued  Miss  Ri,  "and  if  you  can 
put  any  energy  into  that  lazy  Randy's  heels,  I'll  be 
thankful.  When  are  you  going  to  make  up  your 
mind  to  come  and  live  with  me,  Phebe?"  she  asked, 
laughing  at  the  never-failing  joke. 

But  this  time  Phebe's  answer,  instead  of  being: 
"When  de  dead  ducks  eat  up  all  de  mud,  Miss  Ri," 
was :  "Whenever  yuh  likes  to  have  me,  Miss  Ri." 


THE  CLINGING  VINE  31 

Miss  Maria  stopped  short  in  surprise.  She 
looked  from  one  to  another.  "You  don't  mean  it !" 
she  cried. 

"Yas'm,  I  means  it ;  dat  is,  ef  acco'din'  to  de  ques', 
yu  teks  Miss  Lindy,  too/' 

Miss  Ri  turned  her  gaze  on  Linda.  "What  does 
all  this  mean?"  she  asked.  "Come  on  in,  Phebe— 
no,  you  mustn't  go  into  the  kitchen  just  yet ;  we  must 
thrash  this  out  first."  She  led  the  way  into  a 
cheerful  living-room,  against  whose  ancient  walls 
stood  solid  pieces  of  shining  mahogany.  Time- 
stained  pictures,  one  or  two  portraits,  old  engrav- 
ings, a  couple  of  silhouettes  looked  down  at  the 
group.  "Sit  right  down  here,  Verlinda  dear. 
There's  a  chair  for  you,  Phebe.  Now  let  us  hear 
all  about  it."  Miss  Ri  drew  up  a  chair  and  en- 
folded one  of  Linda's  black-gloved  hands  in  hers. 
"What  does  it  all  mean?" 

"It  means  just  this,  Miss  Ri,"  said  Linda;  "Grace 
is  preparing  to  leave  Talbot's  Angles  and  is  going 
to  the  city  for  the  winter.  I  cannot  stay  there  alone, 
even  if  I  had  the  means  to  keep  up  the  house,  and 
as  it  is  to  be  closed,  I  am  thrown  on  my  own  re- 
sources. Mr.  Willis  has  been  good  enough  to  in- 
terest himself  in  getting  me  a  position  in  one  of  the 
schools,  and  I  have  come  up  to  town  to  find  a  board- 
ing place.  I  have  passed  my  examinations  and  am 
to  have  Miss  Patterson's  position,  for  you  know  she 
is  going  to  be  married  this  fall.  And  now,  Miss  Ri, 


32  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

Phebe  thinks  that  maybe  you  would  be  so  good  as 
to  take  me  in." 

"Ef  yuh  teks  her,  yuh  gits  me,"  broke  in  Phebe 
with  an  air  of  finality. 

"It's  a  bargain,"  cried  Miss  Maria.  "Have  I 
been  speaking  for  Phebe  all  these  years  to  be  de- 
prived of  her  now  on  account  of  so  slight  a  thing 
as  Verlinda  Talbot?  No,  indeed.  I  shall  be  de- 
lighted to  have  you  as  my  guest,  my  dear.  While 
as  for  you,  Phebe,  go  right  into  the  kitchen  and  stir 
up  that  lazy  Randy  with  a  poker,  or  anything  else 
you  can  find.  Thank  goodness,  I  shall  not  have  to 
keep  her  long.  Go  along,  Phebe."  Thus  adjured,' 
Phebe  departed,  ducking  her  head  and  chuckling; 
she  dearly  liked  the  errand. 

"It  must  be  as  a  paying  guest,  you  understand," 
said  Linda,  when  Phebe  had  left  them. 

"Paying  nonsense!  Isn't  my  house  big  enough 
for  plump  me,  skinny  you,  and  fat  Phebe?  You 
see  how  I  discriminate  between  my  size  and 
Phebe's?" 

"Then  if  I  am  not  to  be  a  real  boarder,  I  can't 
come,"  said  Linda  firmly. 

"And  I  shall  lose  Phebe!  Verlinda  Talbot,  you 
are  right-down  mean.  All  right,  then,  come  any 
way  you  like,  and  the  sooner,  the  better.  We'll  fix 
it  somehow ;  just  make  yourself  easy  on  that  score. 
My !  I  never  looked  for  such  luck ;  a  young  compan- 
ion and  a  good  cook  at  one  and  the  same  time.  I'll 


THE  CLINGING  VINE  33 

get  your  room  ready  right  away.  I  don't  suppose 
you  could  stay  now?" 

Linda  smiled.  "Not  to-day.  I  haven't  a  very 
extensive  wardrobe,  but  such  as  it  is,  I  must  get  it 
together ;  but  I  shall  come  within  the  next  ten  days. 
It  is  so  very  good  of  you  to  take  me  in,  Miss  Ri. 
Joking  aside,  I  am  most  grateful.  It  makes  the 
giving  up  of  my  own  home  less  of  a  dread." 

"Bless  your  heart,  you  dear  child;  I  will  try  to 
make  you  comfortable.  I  have  always  wanted 
someone  to  mother,  but  I  never  expected  the  Lord 
would  send  me  Verlinda  Talbot.  I  am  not  going 
to  ask  any  questions  now,  but  some  day  we'll  get 
at  the  root  of  the  matter.  Meantime  let  it  rest. 
How  is  Grace  bearing  up?" 

Linda  hesitated.  "Of  course,  she  misses  Martin 
terribly,  but  I  think  she  is  well ;  she  has  a  good  appe- 
tite." " 

Miss  Ri  smiled.  "I  don't  doubt  it.  Has  her  sis- 
ter come?" 

"Yes." 

"A  nice  sort  of  somebody,  is  she?" 

"Yes,  quite  harmless,  really  good-hearted,  I  think, 
but  rather  dull.  However,  though  she  may  bore 
one,  she  has  no  affectations.  She  is  devoted  to 
Grace,  and  I  think  will  be  of  great  use  to  her." 

Miss  Ri  nodded  understandingly.  "Take  off 
your  things,  dear,"  she  said  gently.  "You  are  go- 
ing to  stay  to  dinner,  you  know,  and  then  we  will 


34  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

choose  a  room  for  you."  She  missed  the  color  from 
the  girl's  face  and  noted  the  heavy  shadows  under 
the  violet  eyes,  when  Linda  removed  her  hat. 
"Poor  darling,"  she  said  to  herself,  "only  time  can 
help  her.  Grief  sits  heavily  on  her  heart."  She 
turned  to  a  curious  old  cupboard  in  one  corner  of 
the  room.  "You  must  have  some  of  my  home-made 
wine,"  she  said,  "and  then  we  will  pick  out  the  room. 
Would  you  like  one  looking  out  on  the  river  or  on 
the  road  ?" 

"Oh,  a  river  room,  if  I  may,"  replied  Linda 
eagerly. 

"Very  well;  so  be  it.  I'll  show  you  both  and  you 
can  take  your  choice;  or  no,  better  still,  I  will  fix 
up  the  one  I  am  sure  you  will  prefer,  for  it  will  look 
cosier  than  it  does  now,  and  you  will  have  a  better 
impression  of  it."  She  poured  out  some  amber- 
hued  wine  from  an  old  decanter.  "Here,  drink 
this,"  she  said,  "and  I  will  join  you  in  a  health. 
Here's  to  many  happy  days  under  my  roof,  Verlinda, 
and  may  you  never  regret  coming  to  your  old  friend, 
Maria  Hill." 

Just  then  Phebe's  black  face  appeared  at  the  door. 
"Miss  Ri,"  she  said,  "I  cain't  stan'  pokin'  'roun' 
arfter  that  fool  nigger.  I  is  gwine  to  set  de  table, 
ef  yuh'll  show  me  whar  de  things  is,  please,  ma'am." 

Miss  Ri  finished  her  glass  with  a  "Here's  to 
Phebe!"  and  Linda  followed  her  to  the  dining- 
room. 


CHAPTER    III 

LEAVING    THE    NEST 

In  this  quiet  little  corner  of  Maryland's  eastern 
shore,  if  life  lacked  the  bustle  and  stir  of  more 
widely-known  localities,  it  did  not  lack  interest  for 
its  residents,  while  at  the  same  time  it  provided  a 
certain  easy  content  which  is  missed  in  places  more 
densely  populated,  or  of  more  stirring  affairs.  .  .  . 
To  Linda  Talbot  the  days  had  come  and  gone  in 
careless  fashion  up  to  the  time  of  her  brother's 
death,  for  even  his  marriage  did  not  rob  her  of 
friendships,  and  of  concern  in  the  small  neighbor- 
hood doings,  especially  in  matters  relating  to  the 
little  church,  which,  because  it  stood  upon  Talbot 
ground,  had  always  been  considered  the  special  care 
of  those  dwelling  at  Talbot's  Angles.  The  church 
was  very  old  and  it  had  required  many  bazars, 
many  efforts  at  subscription,  many  appeals  to  keep 
it  in  repair,  and  now  it  showed  its  antiquity  in 
moss-grown  walls,  mouldy  woodwork,  falling  plas- 
ter and  weather-stained  casements. 

On  this  last  Sunday,  when  she  should  perform 
her  weekly  duty  of  placing  flowers  upon  the  altar, 
Linda  clipped  her  choicest  white  chrysanthemums 

35 


36  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

from  the  bushes  and  early  in  the  day  took  them  to 
the  church,  making  her  way  through  dankly  green 
paths  overgrown  with  woodbine,  that  she  might 
reach  the  enclosure  where  dead  and  gone  Talbots 
of  many  generations  were  buried.  Upon  a  newly- 
sodded  grave  she  laid  her  fairest  blossoms,  and 
stood  for  a  moment  with  heaving  breast  and  quiv- 
ering lips,  then  she  went  on  to  the  church,  pushing 
open  the  creaking  door  which  led  into  the  still, 
dimly-lighted,  musty-smelling  place. 

"There  must  be  more  air  and  sun,"  she  said, 
setting  wide  the  door  and  forcing  open  a  window 
that  the  sunlight  might  pour  in.  Then  she  busied 
herself  with  placing  the  flowers  in  their  vases. 
This  done,  she  sat  down  in  the  old  family  pew,  her 
thoughts  travelling  back  to  the  days  when  it  had 
been  scarce  large  enough  for  them  all,  father, 
mother,  grandmother,  two  brothers,  three  sisters, 
and  now  all  resting  in  the  quiet  churchyard,  her- 
self the  youngest  of  them  all,  the  only  one  left. 
She  ran  her  hand  lovingly  along  the  corner  of  the 
pew  where  her  mother  had  been  wont  to  sit;  she 
touched  with  her  lips  the  spot  where  Martin's  fore- 
head had  so  often  rested  as  he  knelt  by  her  side. 
Next  she  knelt,  herself,  for  a  few  minutes;  then, 
without  looking  back,  she  left  the  church,  to  return 
later  to  the  one  service  of  the  day,  letting  Grace 
and  Lauretta  follow. 

Even  sorrow  possessed  certain  elements  of  satis- 


LEAVING  THE  NEST  37 

faction  to  Grace  when  she  was  made  a  conspicuous 
object  of  sympathy.  She  could  not  have  mourned 
in  silence,  if  she  had  tried,  and  the  gratification 
of  hearing  someone  say  as  she  passed:  "Poor,  dear 
Mrs.  Talbot,  how  pathetic  she  looks,"  was  true 
balm  to  her  grief.  She  always  went  regularly  to 
church,  swept  in  late  in  all  her  swathing  of  crape, 
to  take  her  place  in  the  Talbot  pew,  and  as  certain 
suggestive  looks  were  cast  her,  she  returned  them 
with  a  plaintive  droop  of  the  eye,  and  a  mournful 
turn  of  the  head,  as  if  she  would  say:  "Yes,  here 
I  am  in  all  my  woe.  Pity  me  who  will,  and  I  shall 
be  grateful."  Linda,  on  the  contrary,  stole  into 
a  back  seat  just  before  the  service  began  and  stole 
out  again  as  soon  as  it  was  over.  She  could  not 
yet  face  sympathy  and  commiseration. 

Especially  on  this  last  Sunday  did  she  feel  un- 
certain of  herself  and  wished  heartily  that  the  day 
were  over,  for  Grace  could  not  and  would  not  be 
set  aside  for  any  matter  of  packing,  and  reproached 
the  girl  for  her  coldness  and  indifference  toward 
her  "own  brother's  wife,"  from  whom  she  was 
about  to  be  parted,  so  that  Linda  must  fain  sit  and 
listen  to  commonplaces  till  Grace  settled  herself 
for  a  nap,  and  then  she  escaped  to  her  room.  There 
had  promised  to  be  a  stormy  time  over  Phebe's 
leave-taking,  but  as  both  Linda  and  Lauretta 
brought  arguments  to  bear  upon  the  matter,  Grace 
was  at  last  made  to  admit  that,  after  giving  a 


38  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

week's  notice,  Phebe  could  not  be  expected  to  lose 
the  opportunity  of  taking  a  good  place  when  Grace 
herself  should  so  soon  cease  to  need  her.  At  first 
there  was  an  effort  at  temporizing,  and  then  Grace 
tried  to  exact  a  promise  that  Phebe  would  return 
in  the  summer,  but  the  old  woman  would  give  her 
no  satisfaction,  and  she  was  obliged  to  make  the 
best  of  it. 

There  was  a  great  bustle  and  stir  the  next  morn- 
ing, more  because  of  Phebe's  departure  than  be- 
cause of  Linda's,  for  Phebe  was  here,  there,  every- 
where giving  orders  and  scolding  away  "Jes'  lak 
a  ole  bluejay,"  declared  Jake.  She  was  so  impor- 
tantly funny  that  Popsy,  who  was  to  fill  her  place, 
and  Jake,  who  had  long  known  her  ways,  grinned 
and  snickered  so  continually,  that  after  all,  Linda's 
departure  was  not  the  heart-breaking  thing  she  had 
fancied  it  would  be,  and  even  the  drive  to  town 
was  deprived  of  melancholy  on  account  of  the  lively 
chatter  which  Jake  and  Phebe  kept  up  and  which 
was  too  droll  not  to  bring  a  smile  from  one  listen- 
ing. 

"Of  course,  you  will  come  back  for  the  summer 
holidays,"  Grace  had  said  at  parting,  with  the  air 
of  one  who  knows  her  duty  and  intends  to  do  it. 
"Of  course,  you  remember  that  it  was  dear  Mar- 
tin's wish  that  you  would  make  the  place  your  home 
whenever  I  might  be  here." 

But  Linda  had  made  no  reply  except  a  faint  "I 


SCOLDING     AWAY          JES     LAK     AN     OLE     BLUE     JAY. 
DECLARED    JAKE. 


LEAVING  THE  NEST  39 

don't  know  what  I  shall  do  next  summer."  That 
season  was  too  far  off  to  be  making  plans  for  it  now 
when  the  winter  must  be  gone  through,  a  winter 
whose  unknown  ways  she  would  be  compelled  to 
learn. 

But  Miss  Ri's  welcome  was  so  warm  that  there 
was  little  room  left  for  the  sadness  of  parting  after 
the  cheery  greeting.  "Welcome  home,  dear  child. 
Come  right  upstairs.  Your  room  is  all  ready. 
That's  it,  Phebe.  Fetch  along  the  bags.  I've 
fixed  you  up  a  place  over  the  kitchen.  It  is  a  new 
experience  for  me  to  have  a  cook  who  doesn't  want 
to  go  home  nights.  Right  through  the  kitchen 
and  up  the  back  stairs.  You'll  find  your  way. 
Come,  Verlinda,  let  me  have  your  umbrella  or 
something.  I  can  take  that  bag." 

"Indeed,  no.  I'm  not  going  to  have  you  waiting 
on  me,  Miss  Ri." 

"Just  this  once.  I'm  so  proud  of  having  a  young 
lass  to  look  after  that  you'll  have  to  let  me  have 
my  way  for  this  first  day.  There,  how  do  you  like 
it  ?"  She  threw  open  the  door  of  the  spotless  room, 
whose  windows,  though  small,  were  many,  and 
revealed  a  view  of  the  sparkling  blue  river,  the 
harbor  near  by  and,  on  the  opposite  shores, 
stretches  of  green  farmlands.  The  room  itself  was 
long  and  low.  It  held  an  old-fashioned  four-poster 
bed  with  snowy  valance,  a  handsomely-carved  ma- 
hogany bureau,  a  spindle-legged  table  with  leaf  set 


40  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

up  against  the  wall,  a  desk  which  was  opened  to 
show  many  pigeon-holes  and  small  drawers. 
A  low,  soft  couch,  chairs  of  an  antique  pattern, 
and  a  wood  stove  completed  the  furniture.  White 
curtains  were  at  the  windows,  and  on  the  high 
mantel  were  one  or  two  quaint  ornaments. 

"Now,  my  dear,"  said  Miss  Ri,  "this  is  your  sanc- 
tum. You  can  switch  the  furniture  around  any 
way  that  you  prefer,  tack  up  pictures,  put  your  own 
belongings  where  you  choose,  and  if  there  is  any- 
thing you  don't  like,  it  shall  be  removed." 

"It  is  a  darling  room,"  returned  Linda  grate- 
fully. "I  can't  imagine  how  one  could  want  to 
change  a  single  thing." 

"Then  we'll  have  your  trunk  up;  there  will  be 
room  for  one  at  least  in  this  closet,"  Miss  Ri  told 
her,  flinging  open  a  door  to  disclose  further  accom- 
modations. "Here's  your  washstand,  you  see,  and 
there  will  be  room  for  some  of  your  frocks  on  these 
hooks;  the  rest  can  go  in  the  clothes-press  on  the 
other  side  of  the  room  and  you  can  have  another 
bureau,  if  you  like.  The  trunks  could  go  up  in  the 
attic,  if  that  would  suit  better;  but  we  will  let 
that  work  out  as  it  will  later.  Now,  make  yourself 
comfortable,  and  I'll  go  look  after  Phebe.  Come 
down  when  you  are  ready." 

Left  to  herself,  Linda  sank  down  in  a  chair  by 
the  window,  for  a  moment  overcome  by  the  thought 
that  she  had  cut  loose  from  all  the  ties  which  bound 


LEAVING  THE  NEST  41 

her  to  the  dear  old  home.  But  in  a  moment  her 
courage  returned.  "What  nonsense,"  she  mur- 
mured. "Was  ever  a  girl  so  lucky?  Here  I  am 
with  my  living  assured  and  with  dear  Miss  Ri  to 
coddle  me;  with  this  darling  room;  and,  last  of  all, 
with  my  own  old  Mammy  at  hand.  I  am  a  perfect 
ingrate  to  want  more."  She  turned  her  eyes  from 
a  survey  of  the  room  to  a  survey  of  the  outside. 
Along  the  river's  brink  stood  some  little  houses, 
where  the  oystermen  lived;  nearer,  was  a  long 
building,  where  the  oyster-packing  went  on. 
Every  now  and  then,  through  the  open  window, 
came  a  sound  of  cheerful  singing  from  the  shuckers 
at  work.  Tall-masted  sail-boats  dipped  and  curt- 
seyed upon  the  sapphire  waters.  Across  the  river 
a  line  of  shore  was  misty-green  in  the  autumn  light ; 
closer  at  hand  a  grassy  slope,  over  which  tall  trees 
cast  their  shadows,  stretched  down  to  the  river. 
One  or  two  little  row-boats  tethered  to  a  stake, 
near  a  small  boat-house,  rocked  gently  as  the  tiny 
wavelets  leaped  up  on  the  sandy  brink.  Vines 
clambered  to  the  very  windows  of  her  room, 
amongst  their  leaves  birds  were  twittering.  The 
trees  about  the  place  were  many,  and  from  one 
of  them  a  scarlet  tanager  was  shrilling  out  his  in- 
viting call.  "It  is  next  best  to  being  at  home,"  Linda 
told  herself,  "and  to  get  next  best  is  a  rare  thing. 
I  will  unpack  at  my  leisure,  for  perhaps  I'd  better 
see  how  Mammy  is  faring." 


42  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

She  found  Miss  Ri  in  the  sitting-room  and 
Phebe  already  busy  in  the  kitchen.  Miss  Ri  was 
looking  over  some  photograph  prints.  She  handed 
one  to  Linda.  "Tell  me  what  you  think  of  it,"  she 
said. 

"Fine!"  exclaimed  Linda.  "I  didn't'  know  you 
were  an  expert  photographer,  Miss  Ri." 

"I'm  not.  Don't  give  me  credit  for  them.  Sit 
down  and  I'll  tell  you  how  I  happen  to  have  them. 
One  day,  not  long  ago,  I  was  potting  some  of  my 
plants  for  the  winter,  when  a  young  man  came  in 
the  gate.  I  had  never  seen  him  before  and  thought 
he  must  be  a  book-agent  or  some  sort  of  trader 
in  dustless  dusters  or  patent  flat-irons,  though  he 
was  much  too  nice-looking  for  that  kind  of  busi- 
ness. Well,  he  walked  up  to  me  and  said,  'Don't 
you  want  me  to  take  some  photographs  of  your 
house  and  grounds?  This  is  certainly  the  most 
picturesque  place  I  have  seen  about  here/ ' 

"Of  course,  that  pleased  you,  and  so — " 

"Yes,  that  is  it  exactly,  and  so  he  took  a  lot  of 
views,  interiors  and  exteriors,  and  I  think  they  are 
pretty  good.  He  didn't  overcharge,  and  if  he  had 
done  it,  I  should  be  disposed  to  forgive  him.  He 
stayed  all  the  morning — " 

"And  I'll  venture  to  say  you  asked  him  to  din- 


ner." 


Miss  Ri  laughed.     "Well,  yes,  I  did;  for  who 
wouldn't  have  almost  anyone  rather  than  eat  alone  ? 


LEAVING  THE  NEST  43 

He  did  stay  and  told  me  his  story,  which  was  a 
most  interesting  one." 

"I  hope  he  didn't  go  off  with  his  pockets  full  of 
your  old  silver." 

"My  dear,  he  is  a  gentleman." 

"Oh,  is  he?  And  goes  around  taking  photo- 
graphs? This  is  interesting,  Miss  Ri.  Tell  me 
some  more." 

"Well,  it  seems  that  he  has  come  down  here  to 
look  up  some  property  that  belonged  to  his  great- 
grandfather and  which  he  should  have  inherited 
by  all  rights;  but,  unfortunately,  his  trunk,  with 
all  the  papers  he  needs,  has  gone  astray,  and,  what 
is  more,  he  was  robbed  of  his  pocketbook;  so  now, 
while  he  is  waiting  to  find  the  trunk  and  until  his 
next  quarter's  money  comes  in,  he  finds  himself,  as 
they  express  it,  'momentarily  embarrassed';  but, 
having  his  camera  with  him  and  being  a  good  ama- 
teur photographer,  he  is  turning  his  gifts  to  ac- 
count, that  he  may  at  least  pay  his  board." 

"It  seems  to  me  it  would  have  been  more  to  the 
purpose,  if  he  had  been  robbed  of  the  camera  in- 
stead of  the  pocket-book.  He  strikes  me  as  a  very 
careless  young  man  to  lose  both  his  trunk  and  his 
purse." 

"He  didn't  lose  the  pocket-book;  it  was  stolen; 
he  is  sure  of  that ;  and  as  for  the  trunk,  it  was  sent 
by  a  local  expressman  to  the  steamboat,  and  so  far 
has  not  been  traced." 


44  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

"A  very  clever  story,"  Linda  went  on.  "I  am 
only  surprised  that  you  didn't  offer  to  take  him  in 
here  until  the  missing  articles  are  found." 

"I  did  think  of  it,"  returned  Miss  Ri  with  a 
twinkle  in  her  eye,  "and  if  you  hadn't  been  coming, 
I  might  have  done  it;  but  I  was  afraid  he  might 
prove  too  susceptible  or  that — " 

"I  might,"  returned  Linda,  laughing.  "You 
certainly  are  considerate,  Miss  Ri.  Where  is  our 
paragon,  now?" 

"Oh,  I  sent  him  to  Parthy  Turner's,  and  they 
are  both  having  a  mighty  nice  time  of  it.  She  has 
turned  him  over  to  Berk  Matthews,  and  he  is  doing 
what  he  can  for  him." 

"And  do  you  believe  there  really  was  a  great- 
grandfather ?" 

"Oh,  dear,  yes;  I  am  convinced  of  it.  The 
young  man  has  shown  us  his  credentials,  and  I 
have  no  doubt  but  that  in  time  he  can  find  enough 
proof  to  substantiate  what  he  has  told  us  about  his 
claim.  If  only  the  trunk  could  be  found,  he  says 
he  thinks  it  would  be  a  very  simple  thing  to  estab- 
lish his  rights." 

"And  am  I  not  to  see  this  mysterious  stranger  ?  I 
suppose  he  comes  here  sometimes  to  report." 

"If  you  are  very  good,  I  may  let  you  see  him 
through  the  crack  of  the  door;  but  he  is  not  for 
you.  I  have  picked  out  someone  else." 

"Oh,  you  have?     So  you  are  a  confessed  match- 


LEAVING  THE  NEST  45 

maker,  Miss  Ri?  May  I  know  the  name  of  my 
knight?" 

"No,  you  may  not;  that  would  be  enough  to 
make  you  turn  your  back  on  him  at  once.  It  is  en- 
tirely my  secret." 

"And  the  picked  out  person  doesn't  know  he  is 
picked  out?" 

"Not  a  bit  of  it;  he  hasn't  the  faintest  suspicion. 
How  good  that  dinner  does  smell.  Phebe  is  the 
only  thing  I  wanted  that  I  didn't  have,  and  now  I 
have  her." 

"Do  you  really  mean,  Miss  Ri,  that  you  get 
everything  you  want  in  this  world?" 

"Why,  yes;  at  least  of  late  years  it  has  been  so. 
I  found  out  the  secret  from  Thoreau  some  ten  or 
more  years  ago." 

"A  precious  secret,  I  should  say." 

"A  very  simple  one.  It  is  easy  enough  to  get 
what  one  wants,  when  one  makes  it  a  rule  to  want 
only  what  he  can  get.  If  you  think  you  haven't 
enough  for  your  wants,  all  you  have  to  do  is  to 
reduce  your  wants." 

"I'm  afraid  my  philosophy  isn't  sufficient  for 
such  a  state  of  things,"  said  Linda  with  a  sigh. 

"Why  isn't  it?  Now,  let's  face  the  question. 
What  do  you  want  that  you  can't  get?" 

Linda  was  silent  before  she  said  tremulously, 
"My  brother." 

"Ah,   my  dear,   that  is  all  wrong.     Don't  you 


46  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

believe  that  you  have  your  brother  still?  If 
he  were  in  Europe,  in  China,  in  India,  wouldn't 
you  still  have  him?  Even  if  he  were  in  some  un- 
reachable  place  like  the  South  Pole,  he  would  still 
be  your  brother,  and  now  because  he  has  gone  a 
little  further  away,  is  he  not  yours  just  the  same?" 

"Oh,  Miss  Ri,  sometimes  I  am  afraid  I  doubt  it." 

"But  I  know  it,  for  there  was  One  who"  said,  'If  it 
were  not  so,  I  would  have  told  you.'  Even  the 
greatest  scoffer  among  us  must  admit  that  our  Lord 
was  one  who  did  speak  the  truth ;  that  is  what  com- 
forts." 

Linda  laid  her  cheek  against  the  other  woman's 
hand.  "That  does  comfort,"  she  said.  "I  never 
saw  it  that  way  before.  Is  it  that,  Miss  Ri,  that 
keeps  you  almost  always  so  bright  and  happy?  you 
who  have  lost  all  your  nearest  and  dearest,  too? 
You  so  seldom  get  worried  or  blue." 

"Yes,  I  suppose  it  is  that  and  another  reason," 
returned  Miss  Ri,  unwilling  to  continue  so  serious 
a  talk. 

"And  what  is  the  other?" 

"I  try  to  make  it  a  rule  never  to  get  mad  with 
fools,"  replied  Miss  Ri  with  a  laugh.  "Of  course, 
I  don't  always  succeed,  but  the  trying  helps  a  lot." 

Just  here  Phebe's  head  appeared  at  the  door. 
"Miss  Ri,  I  cain't  find  no  tater-masher.  What  I 
gwine  do?" 

"Oh,  dear  me ;  let  me  see.     Oh,  yes,  I  remember ; 


LEAVING  THE  NEST  47 

Randy  threw  it  at  black  Wally  the  other  day  when 
he  was  pestering  her.  She  didn't  hit  him  and  I 
reckon  she  never  troubled  herself  to  pick  up  the 
potato-masher;  you'll  find  it  somewhere  about  the 
back  yard.  Randy  certainly  has  a  temper,  for  all 
she  is  so  slow  in  other  ways.  Come  along,  Verlinda ; 
I  promised  to  show  you  that  old  wine-cooler  we 
were  talking  about  the  other  day.  I  found  it  down 
cellar,  when  the  men  were  clearing  out  the  trash; 
I've  had  it  done  over,  and  it  isn't  bad."  She  led 
the  way  to  the  living-room,  which,  rich  in  old  ma- 
hogany, displayed  an  added  treasure  in  the  quaint 
wine-cooler,  in  which  the  bottles  could  lie  slanting, 
around  the  central  receptacle  for  ice. 

"It  is  a  beautiful  piece  of  wood,"  commented 
Linda,  "and  it  is  certainly  curious  enough.  I  do 
love  this  room,  with  all  this  beautiful  old  furniture. 
How  do  you  manage  to  keep  it  so  beautifully  pol- 
ished?" 

"Give  it  a  rub  up  once  in  a  while;  and,  you  see, 
between  whiles  there  is  no  one  to  abuse  the  things, 
so  they  keep  bright.  Let  us  see  about  the  potato- 
masher;  Phebe's  found  it,  I  declare.  I  venture  to 
say  it  won't  lie  out  of  doors  for  a  week,  while  she's 
here." 


CHAPTER   IV 
"DEPARTED  DAYS" 

Miss  Parthy  Turner's  back  garden  was  separated 
from  Miss  Maria  Hill's  by  a  fence  in  which  a  gate 
was  cut  that  the  two  might  sociably  jog  back  and 
forth  without  going  around  the  block.  One  of 
Linda's  windows  overlooked  these  gardens,  where 
apple-trees  disputed  right  of  way  with  lilac  bushes 
and  grape-vines,  and  where,  just  now,  late  roses 
were  cast  in  the  shade  by  the  more  brilliant  chrys- 
anthemums. Miss  Parthy,  it  may  be  said,  was  of 
a  more  practical  turn  than  her  neighbor  in  that 
she  gave  over  to  vegetables  a  larger  part  of  her 
garden  space,  so  that  there  were  still  discernible 
rows  of  cabbages,  slowly-ripening  pumpkins,  high- 
poled  beans,  and  a  few  late  tomatoes. 

The  morning  after  her  arrival,  Linda  noticed  in 
the  garden,  beyond  the  dividing  line,  a  young  man 
walking  about  with  an  evident  eye  to  the  quality 
of  the  apples  shining  redly  above  his  head.  She 
regarded  this  person  with  some  curiosity,  conjec- 
turing that  he  was  the  mysterious  stranger  who 
had  taken  the  photographs  for  Miss  Ri.  "He 
doesn't  look  like  a  fake,"  she  told  herself.  "I  sup- 

.48 


"DEPARTED  DAYS"  49 

pose  his  story  may  be  true.  By  the  way,  Miss  Ri 
didn't  tell  me  his  name  nor  where  he  hails  from/' 
However,  her  thoughts  did  not  long  dwell  upon  the 
stranger,  for  this  was  to  be  her  initial  morning  at 
school,  and  she  was  looking  forward  to  it  with  dis- 
may and  dread.  She  scarce  tasted  her  breakfast 
and  looked  so  pale  and  anxious,  that  Miss  Ri's  heart 
ached  for  her.  Mammy,  too,  was  most  solicitous, 
but  knew  no  better  way  to  express  her  sympathy 
than  by  urging  hot  cakes  upon  the  girl  with  such 
persistence  that  at  last,  to  please  her,  Linda  man- 
aged to  eat  one. 

In  spite  of  fears,  the  morning  went  more  smoothly 
than  she  had  anticipated,  for  Miss  Patterson  re- 
mained to  coach  her  and  she  became  familiarized 
with  the  routine,  at  least.  Her  pupils  were  little 
boys,  none  too  docile,  and  naturally  a  new  teacher 
was  a  target  for  tricks,  if  so  she  did  not  show  her 
mettle.  Under  Miss  Patterson's  watchful  eye 
there  was  no  chance  for  mutiny,  and  Linda  went 
home  with  some  of  her  qualms  allayed.  She  had 
passed  her  examinations  creditably  enough  and 
felt  that  she  could  cope  with  the  mere  matters  of 
teaching,  but  the  disciplining  of  a  room  full  of 
mischievous  urchins  was  quite  another  question, 
and  the  next  morning  her  heart  misgave  her  when 
she  met  the  rows  of  upturned  faces,  some  express- 
ing mock  meekness,  some  defiant  bravado,  some 
open  mirth.  Courageously  as  she  met  the  situa- 


50  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

tion,  it  was  a  trying  morning.  If  her  back  was 
turned  for  but  an  instant,  there  were  subdued 
snickers;  if  she  made  a  statement,  it  was  ques- 
tioned; if  she  censured,  there  were  black  looks  and 
whispers  of  disapproval.  At  last  one  offender, 
sneaking  on  his  hands  and  knees  to  the  desk  of  an- 
other boy,  was  captured  and  marched  off  to  the 
principal,  a  last  resort,  as  poor  Linda's  nerves  could 
stand  no  more.  She  was  near  to  crying,  her  voice 
trembled  and  her  heart  beat  fast.  She  scarcely 
knew  how  she  went  through  the  rest  of  the  morn- 
ing, for,  though  her  summary  act  had  quelled  open 
rebellion,  she  was  not  at  ease  and  keenly  felt  the 
undercurrent  of  criticism.  She  did  not  realize  that 
the  boys  were  trying  her  spirit,  and  she  went  home 
discouraged  and  exhausted,  a  sense  of  defeat  over- 
coming her. 

As  she  was  entering  the  gate,  she  met  someone 
coming  out,  a  young  man,  rather  heavily  built,  with 
a  keen,  clever  face,  rather  than  a  handsome  one. 
"Ah,  Miss  Linda,"  he  exclaimed,  holding  out  his 
hand,  "I've  just  been  hearing  about  you." 

"From  Miss  Ri,  of  course.  Well,  what  has  she 
been  telling  you?" 

"It  wouldn't  do  to  say.  How  is  the  school  go- 
ing?" 

"The  school  in  general  seems  to  be  going  very 
well ;  as  to  my  part  of  it,  the  least  said,  the  better." 

"Really?     What's  the  trouble?" 


"DEPARTED  DAYS"  51 

"I  don't  know  exactly.  I  suppose  that  I  am  the 
trouble,  perhaps;  Miss  Patterson  seemed  to  get 
along  well  enough." 

"Boys  or  girls  do  you  have?" 

"Boys;  little  wretches  from  eight  to  ten,  such 
sinners,  not  a  saint  among  them." 

"Would  you  have  even  one  saint?  I  wouldn't, 
for  he  couldn't  be  a  truly  normal,  healthy  boy.  But 
I  am  keeping  you  standing  and  I  know  you  are 
ready  for  your  dinner.  I'll  walk  back  to  the  house 
with  you,  and  you  can  tell  me  the  particular  kinds 
of  sin  that  have  annoyed  you.  I  was  a  boy  my- 
self once,  you  know." 

He  walked  by  her  side  to  the  house.  Miss  Ri, 
seeing  them  coming,  was  at  the  door  to  meet  them. 
"I  thought  I  sent  you  home  once,  Berk  Matthews," 
she  said. 

"So  you  did,  but  I  took  this  way  of  going. 
Don't  imagine  for  a  moment  that  my  return  in- 
volves an  invitation  to  dinner,  Miss  Ri." 

"That  is  an  excellent  thing,  for  I  don't  intend  to 
extend  one." 

"Could  you  believe  that  she  would  so  fail  in  hos- 
pitality?" said  the  young  man,  turning  to  Linda.  "I 
am  mortified,  Miss  Ri,  not  because  of  the  dinner, 
but  that  you  should  go  back  on  the  reputation  of 
an  Eastern  Shore  hostess.  Isn't  it  a  world-wide 
theory  that  we  of  the  Eastern  Shore  never  turn  a 
guest  from  the  door  when  there  is  the  faintest  pos- 


52  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

sibility  of  his  accepting  a  bid  to  a  meal?  Alas, 
that  you  should  be  the  first  to  establish  a  precedent 
that  will  change  the  world's  opinion  of  us." 

Miss  Ri  laughed.  "You  would  think  I  was  a 
client  for  the  other  side  and  that  he  was  using  his 
wiles  to  get  me  fined,  at  least.  Come  along  in,  if 
you  must;  I  can  guarantee  you  better  fare  than 
you  will  get  at  the  Jackson  House,  I  am  bound  to 
say." 

"That  sounds  alluring,  but  my  feelings  are  hurt 
because  I  had  to  hint  for  an  invitation." 

"Could  anything  so  obvious  be  dignified  by  the 
name  of  a  hint?  Very  well,  go  along  and  cut  off 
your  nose  to  spite  your  face,  if  you  like;  you  will 
be  the  loser." 

"Not  very  complimentary,  is  she?"  said  Mr.  Mat- 
thews, laughing.  "I  believe  I  will  come  now,  just 
to  show  you  that  I  am  not  to  be  badgered." 

"Then  don't  stand  there  keeping  us  from  our 
dinner.  It  is  all  ready,  and  I  don't  want  it  spoiled." 
Thus  adjured,  the  young  man  followed  the  others 
into  the  dining-room,  where  Phebe  was  just  setting 
forth  the  meal. 

"Well,  and  how  did  it  go  to-day,  Verlinda?" 
asked  Miss  Ri,  when  they  had  seated  themselves. 

"Don't  ask  her  anything  till  after  dinner,"  put 
in  Mr.  Matthews.  "Things  will  assume  an  entirely 
different  aspect  when  she  has  had  something  to  eat. 
Just  now  the  shooting  of  the  young  idea  is  not  a 


"DEPARTED  DAYS"  53 

pleasant  process  to  contemplate,  in  the  eyes  of  Miss 
Linda.  We'll  talk  about  something  else.  Where 
did  you  get  these  oysters,  Miss  Ri  ?  I  never  tasted 
such  a  pie." 

"Of  course  you  didn't,  for  you  never  ate  one 
made  by  such  a  cook.  The  oysters  came  from  the 
usual  place,  but  I'm  in  high  feather,  Berk,  for  I 
have  the  best  cook  in  town.  I  have  Linda's 
Phebe." 

"You  don't  want  another  boarder  ?" 

"Not  I.  Linda  is  adopted;  she  is  not  to  be 
classed  with  common  boarders,  and  I  certainly 
don't  want  to  spoil  my  ideal  household  by  taking 
in  a—" 

"Mere  man,"  interrupted  Berkley.  "Very  well, 
I  will  find  an  excuse  to  come  in  every  day  about 
meal  time.  What  are  you  going  to  have  for  sup- 
per?" 

"Cold  cornbread,  dried  apples  and  chipped  beef," 
replied  Miss  Ri  with  gravity. 

"That's  mean.  Well,  I'll  come  around  with  the 
papers  to-morrow." 

"We're  going  to  have  the  remains  of  the  chipped 
beef  and  dried  apples  for  dinner." 

"Then  I'll  come  about  supper  time;  they  can't 
last  over  three  meals." 

"You  don't  know  the  surviving  qualities  of  those 
articles  of  diet;  they  may  last  a  week  with  proper 


care." 


54  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

"I'll  come  and  find  out.  I  can  go  in  the  back 
way  and  ask  Phebe,  or  I  might  bribe  her  to  throw 
the  stuff  over  the  fence  to  Miss  Parthy's  chickens." 

"Don't  you  be  up  to  any  of  your  lawyer's  tricks, 
Berk  Matthews.  I  warn  you,  not  a  meal  in  my 
house  shall  you  eat,  if  I  hear  of  any  shenannyging 
on  your  part." 

"I'll  be  good  then,  but  I'd  like  a  piece  of  that  pie, 
a  nice  big  piece." 

While  all  this  nonsense  was  going  on,  Linda 
kept  silence.  She  was  really  hungry  and  the  light 
foolish  talk  was  a  relief,  as  the  others  intended  it 
should  be.  In  consequence,  she  went  back  to  school 
in  better  spirits  and  the  afternoon  passed  more  sat- 
isfactorily. 

True  to  his  threat,  Berkley  Matthews  did  appear 
with  some  papers  just  before  supper  time,  but  re- 
fused to  stay,  telling  Miss  Ri  with  great  glee  that 
Miss  Parthy  had  invited  him  to  her  house  and  that 
she  was  going  to  cook  the  supper  herself,  while 
he  and  her  other  guest,  Wyatt  Jeffreys,  were  going 
to  help. 

"Wyatt  Jeffreys,  Wyatt  Jeffreys,"  repeated 
Linda.  "That  name  sounds  very  familiar.  I  won- 
der where  I  have  heard  it.  Where  is  he  from,  Miss 
Ri?" 

"From  Connecticut,  I  believe.  Any  more  light 
on  the  case,  Berk?" 

"No.     Nothing  can  be  done  till  he  shows  up  his 


"DEPARTED  DAYS"  55 

papers,  and  they  seem  to  be  lost  irrevocably.  It's 
pretty  hard  on  the  poor  chap,  if  there  is  really  any- 
thing in  the  claim.  Good-by,  Miss  Linda.  I  must 
be  going,  Miss  Ri;  you  can't  wheedle  me  into  stay- 
ing this  time." 

"Wheedle  you!"  cried  Miss  Ri  in  pretended  in- 
dignation. "I  can  scarcely  get  rid  of  such  a  per- 
sistent beggar.  Go  along  and  don't  come  back." 

"I'll  have  to,"  cried  he.  "You  must  sign  those 
papers  at  once,  this  very  evening." 

"I'll  bring  them  to  your  office  to-morrow  morn- 
ing," Miss  Ri  called  after  him,  but  he  only  waved 
his  hand  with  a  parting  "Shan't  be  there,"  and 
Miss  Ri  turned  to  Linda,  laughing.  "We  always 
have  it  back  and  forth  this  way.  He  attends  to 
my  business,  you  know,  and  runs  in  often.  Now 
that  his  mother  and  sister  have  left  town,  he  boards 
at  the  hotel,  and  likes  the  home  feeling  of  coming 
here  to  a  meal.  Nice  boy,  Berk  is." 

Linda  had  known  Berkley  Matthews  all  her  life. 
As  a  little  stocky  boy  he  had  come  to  play  with  her 
in  Miss  Ri's  garden  on  some  of  the  occasions  when 
she  was  brought  from  Talbot's  Angles  to  spend  the 
day.  Later  he  had  gone  to  boarding-school,  then 
to  college,  and  she  had  seen  little  of  him  during 
late  years. 

"He'll  be  back,"  said  Miss  Ri  nodding,  "just  to 
get  the  better  of  me.  But  to  tell  you  the  truth,  Ver- 
linda,  he  certainly  is  a  comfort,  for  he  looks  out 


56  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

for  my  interest  every  time.  I  wouldn't  have  a 
house  nor  a  field  left  by  this  time,  if  it  had  depended 
upon  my  kin  folks.  Don't  be  an  old  maid,  Ver- 
linda.  When  their  very  nearest  and  dearest  are 
gone,  old  maids  seem  to  be  regarded,  by  the  world 
in  general,  as  things  so  detached  as  to  have  no 
rights  whatever;  their  possessions  appear  to  be  re- 
garded as  so  many  threads  hanging  from  them; 
whoever  comes  along  in  need  of  a  needleful,  makes 
a  grab,  possesses  himself  of  such  a  length  and 
makes  off  with  it,  never  stopping  to  see  that  it 
leaves  a  gaping  rent  behind." 

Linda  laughed.  Miss  Ri's  grievances  were  not 
many,  but  were  generally  those  caused  by  her  step- 
brother's family,  who  lived  not  far  away  and  made 
raids  upon  her  whenever  they  came  to  town. 

"Oh,  well,  you  may  laugh,"  Miss  Ri  went  on, 
"but  it  is  quite  true.  Why,  only  the  last  time  Becky 
was  here  she  carried  off  a  little  mirror  that  had 
belonged  to  my  great-grandmother." 

"Why  did  you  let  her  have  it?  Your  great- 
grandmother  was  no  relation  of  hers." 

"I  know  that;  but  she  talked  so  much,  I  had  to 
let  her  take  it  to  get  rid  of  the  incessant  buzzing. 
You  know  what  a  talker  Becky  is." 

"But  you  like  Mrs.  Becky;  I've  often  heard  you 
say  so." 

"Oh,  yes,  I  like  her  well  enough.  She  is  enter- 
taining when  she  is  talking  about  other  people's 


"DEPARTED  DAYS"  57 

affairs  and  not  mine,"  remarked  Miss  Ri  with  a 
droll  smile.  ''That  is  the  way  it  generally  is,  I 
suppose.  Well,  anyhow,  Berk  Matthews  keeps  my 
business  together,  and  I'm  sure  I  am  satisfied  to 
have  him  run  in  when  he  chooses,  if  only  to  keep 
me  in  a  good  humor." 

"I  thought  you  were  always  so,  and  that  you 
never  got  mad  with  fools." 

"I  don't;  but  Becky  is  no  fool,  my  dear." 
They  turned  into  the  big  drawing-room,  a  room 
charming  enough  in  itself,  without  the  addition  of 
the  fine  old  Chippendale  chairs  and  tables,  the  carved 
davenport,  the  big  inlaid  piano,  and  the  portraits 
representing  beauties  of  a  departed  time.  Linda 
knew  them  all.  The  beautiful  girl  in  white,  hold- 
ing a  rose,  was  Miss  Ri's  grandmother,  for  whom 
she  was  named  and  who  was  a  famous  belle  in  her 
day.  The  gentleman  in  red  hunting-coat  was  a 
great-grandfather  and  his  wife  the  lady  with  pow- 
dered hair  and  robed  in  blue  satin.  The  man  with 
the  sword  was  another  great-grandfather,  and  so 
on.  One  must  go  up  a  step  to  reach  the  embrasured 
windows  which  looked  riverward,  but  at  the  others, 
which  faced  the  lawn,  hung  heavy  damask  curtains. 
Linda  had  always  liked  the  smaller  windows,  and 
when  she  was  a  little  child  had  preferred  to  play 
on  the  platform  before  them  to  going  anywhere 
else.  There  was  such  a  sense  of  security  in  being 
thus  raised  above  the  floor.  She  liked,  too,  the  lit- 


58  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

tie  writing-room  and  the  tiny  boudoir  which  led 
from  the  larger  room,  though  these  were  closed, 
except  in  summer,  as  so  large  a  house  was  hard 
to  heat  comfortably. 

A  freshly-burning  fire  in  the  fireplace  sent 
glancing  lights  over  the  tall  candlesticks  and  sought 
out  the  brightest  spots  on  the  old  picture-frames. 
It  picked  out  the  brass  beading  on  the  yellow-keyed 
piano,  and  flickered  across  Chinese  curios  on  the 
spindle-legged  tables.  Miss  Ri's  grandfather  had 
been  an  admiral  in  the  navy  and  many  were  the 
treasures  which  were  tucked  away  here,  out  of 
sight  there,  or  more  happily,  brought  forth  to  take 
the  place  of  some  more  modern  gift  which  had  come 
to  grief  in  the  hands  of  careless  servants. 

"It  is  a  dear  old  room,"  said  Linda,  sitting  down 
at  the  piano  and  touching  softly  the  yellowed  keys, 
which  gave  forth  a  tinkling  response. 

"I  ought  to  have  a  new  piano,"  said  Miss  Ri, 
"and  now  you  have  come,  it  will  be  an  excuse  to 
get  one.  I'll  see  what  I  can  do  next  time  I  go  to 
town.  I  remember  that  you  have  a  nice  voice." 

"Nothing  to  boast  of." 

"Not  very  powerful,  perhaps,  but  sweet  and  true. 
I  wish  you'd  sing  for  me,  Verlinda,  if  you  are  not 
too  tired." 

"I  will,  if  you  will  first  play  for  me  some  of  those 
things  I  used  to  love  when  I  was  a  child.  You 


"DEPARTED  DAYS"  59 

would  play  till  I  grew  drowsy,  and  then  you  would 
carry  me  off  to  bed." 

"Oh,  my  dear,  I  don't  play  nowadays,  and  on 
that  old  tinkling  piano." 

"But  it  is  just  because  it  is  the  old  piano  that 
I  want  the  old  tunes." 

"Then  pick  out  what  you  like,  and  I  will  try." 

Linda  turned  over  a  pile  of  music  to  find  such 
obsolete  titles  as  "Twilight  Dews,"  "Departed 
Days,"  "Showers  of  Pearl,"  and  the  like.  She 
selected  one  and  set  it  on  the  rack.  "Here  is  one 
I  used  to  like  the  best,"  she  said.  "It  suggested 
all  sorts  of  things  to  my  childish  mind ;  deep  woods, 
fairy  calls,  growling  giants;  I  don't  know  what 
all" 

"  'Departed  Days.'  Very  fitly  named,  isn't  it  ? 
for  it  is  at  least  fifteen  years  ago,  and  it  was  an  old 
thing  then.  Well,  I  will  try ;  but  you  mustn't  criti- 
cise when  I  stumble."  She  sat  down  to  the  piano, 
a  stout,  fresh-colored,  grey-haired  woman  with  a 
large  mouth,  whose  sweet  expression  betokened  the 
kindly  nature  better  than  did  the  humorous 
twinkling  eyes.  She  played  with  little  style,  but 
sympathetically,  though  the  thin  tinkling  notes 
might  have  jarred  upon  the  ears  of  one  who  had 
no  tender  associations  with  the  commonplace  mel- 
ody. To  Linda  it  was  a  voice  from  out  of  her  long- 
ago,  and  she  listened  with  a  wistful  smile  till  sud- 


60  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

denly  the  door  opened  and  the  music  ended  with  a 
false  chord.  Miss  Ri  shut  the  piano  with  a  bang, 
and  turned  to  greet  the  young  man  who  entered. 


CHAPTER   V 

THE    ALARM 

"Have  I  interrupted  a  musicale?"  asked  Berkley 
jauntily. 

"You  are  just  in  time  to  hear  Verlinda  sing," 
responded  Miss  Ri  with  ready  tact  and  in  order 
to  cover  her  own  confusion. 

"Ah,  that's  good,"  cried  he,  though  "Oh,  Miss 
Ri,"  came  in  protest  from  Linda. 

"Didn't  you  promise  to  sing  for  me,  if  I  played 
for  you?"  queried  Miss  Ri. 

"Yes, —  but  —  only  for  you." 

"Now,  Miss  Linda,"  Berkley  expostulated, 
"haven't  I  known  you  as  long  as  Miss  Ri  has?" 

"Not  quite,"  Linda  answered. 

"But  does  the  matter  of  a  few  months  or  even 
years,  when  you  were  yet  in  a  state  of  infantile 
bewilderment,  make  any  difference?" 

"It  makes  all  the  difference,"  Linda  was  positive. 

"Oh,  come,  come,"  spoke  up  Miss  Ri,  "that  is  all 
nonsense.  '  You  don't  make  any  bones  of  singing 
in  the  church  choir,  Verlinda." 

"Oh,   but   then   I   have   the   support   of   other 


voices." 


61 


62  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

"Well,  you  can  have  the  support  of  Berk's 
voice;  I  am  sure  it  is  big  enough." 

"Oh,  but  I  don't  sing  anything  but  college 
songs,"  the  young  man  declared. 

"Such  a  very  modest  pair,"  laughed  Miss  Ri. 

"Well,  who  was  blushing  like  a  sixteen-older 
when  I  came  in?  Tell  me  that,"  said  Berkley 
triumphantly.  And  Miss  Ri  was  perforce  to  ac- 
knowledge that  she  was  as  bad  as  the  rest,  but  the 
controversy  was  finally  ended  by  Linda's  consent- 
ing to  sing  one  song  if  Berkley  would  do  the  same. 
She  chose  a  quaint  old  English  ballad  as  being  in 
keeping  with  the  clinking  piano,  and  then  Berkley 
sang  a  rollicking  college  song  to  a  monotonous  ac- 
companiment which,  however,  was  nearly  drowned 
by  his  big  baritone. 

By  the  time  this  was  ended  the  ice  was  broken 
and  they  warmed  up  to  the  occasion.  They 
dragged  forth  some  of  Miss  Ri's  old  music-books 
to  find  such  sentimental  songs  of  a  former  day  as 
pleased  their  fancy.  Over  some  of  these  they  made 
merry;  over  others  they  paused.  "My  mother  used 
to  sing  that,"  Berkley  would  say.  "So  did  my 
mother,"  Linda  would  answer,  and  then  would 
follow:  "She  Wore  a  Wreath  of  Roses,"  "Flow 
Gently,  Sweet  Afton,"  "Cast  That  Shadow  from 
Thy  Brow,"  or  some  other  forgotten  ballad. 

"Oh,  here  is  The  Knight  of  the  Raven  Black 
Plume/  "  cried  Linda,  as  she  turned  the  discolored 


THE  ALARM  63 

pages  of  one  of  the  old  books.  "How  I  used  to 
love  that;  it  is  so  romantic.  Listen/'  and  she  be- 
gan, "A  lady  looked  forth  from  her  lattice." 

So  they  went  from  one  thing  to  another  till 
Berkley,  looking  at  his  watch  exclaimed,  "I'm 
keeping  you  all  up,  and  Miss  Ri,  we  haven't  seen 
to  those  papers.  That  music  is  a  treasure-trove, 
Miss  Linda.  We  must  get  at  the  other  books 
sometime,  but  we'll  take  some  Friday  night  when 
you  can  sleep  late  the  next  morning." 

Linda's  face  shadowed.  "Why  remind  me  of 
such  things?  I  had  nearly  forgotten  that  there 
wrere  matters  like  school-rooms  and  abandoned  little 
wretches  of  boys." 

"Don't  be  so  hard  on  the  little  chaps.  I  was 
one  once,  as  I  reminded  you,  and  I  have  some  sym- 
pathy with  them  caged  up  in  a  school-room.  Just 
get  the  point  of  contact  and  you  will  be  all  right." 

"Ah,  but  there's  the  rub,"  returned  Linda  rue- 
fully. "I  am  not  used  to  boys,  and  any  sort  of  con- 
tact, pointed  or  otherwise,  doesn't  appeal  to  me." 

"You  must  just  bully  them  into  good  be- 
havior," put  in  Miss  Ri.  "Here,  Berk,  you  be  the 
little  boy  and  I'll  be  the  school-marm.  Verlinda 
needs  an  object  lesson."  Then  followed  a  scene 
so  funny  that  Linda  laughed  till  she  cried. 

"Where  are  those  papers?"  inquired  Miss  Ri 
suddenly  putting  an  end  to  the  nonsense.  "Bring 
them  into  the  sitting-room,  Berk,  and  we  will  get 


64  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

them  done  with.  I'm  going  up  to  town  to-morrow, 
and  we  may  as  well  finish  up  this  business  before 
I  go." 

"One  of  your  mysterious  errands,  Miss  Ri?" 
said  Berkley  smiling. 

"Never  mind  what  it  is;  that  is  none  of  your 
concern.  You  don't  suppose  because  you  collect 
my  rents,  and  look  after  my  leases  that  you  must 
know  every  time  I  buy  a  paper  of  hairpins." 

"You  don't  have  to  go  up  to  the  city  for  those, 
you  see.  It  is  my  private  opinion,  Miss  Linda, 
that  she  makes  a  semi-annual  visit  to  a  fortune- 
teller or  some  one  of  that  ilk.  I  notice  she  is  more 
than  ordinarily  keen  when  she  gets  back  after  one 
of  these  trips." 

"Come  along,  come  along,"  interrupted  Miss  Ri. 
"You'll  stand  here  talking  all  night.  I  declare  you 
are  as  bad  as  Becky  Hill." 

"Oh,  yes,  I'm  coming,  Miss  Ri.  Do  you  know 
Mrs.  Hill,  Miss  Linda  ?  and  did  you  ever  hear  what 
her  sister,  Mrs.  Phil  Reed  says  of  her?" 

"I  know  Mrs.  Hill,  yes,  indeed,  but  I  never  heard 
the  speech.  What  was  it?" 

"You  know  what  a  talker  Mrs.  Becky  is.  Mrs. 
Reed  refers  to  it  in  this  way.  'Becky,  dear  child, 
is  so  sympathetic,  so  interested  in  others  that  she 
exhausts  herself  by  giving  out  so  much  to  her 
friends.' " 

"I  should  say  it  was  the  friends  who  were  ex- 


THE  ALARM  65 

hausted,"  returned  Linda.  But  here  Miss  Ri  sud- 
denly turned  out  the  lights  leaving  them  to  grope 
their  way  to  the  sitting-room  where  the  papers 
were  signed  and  then  Berkley  was,  as  Miss  Ri 
termed  it,  driven  out. 

The  steamboat  which  left  at  six  o'clock  every 
evening  bore  Miss  Ri  away  on  its  next  trip.  It 
was  an  all  night  journey  down  the  river  and  up 
the  bay,  and  therefore,  Miss  Ri  would  not  return 
till  the  morning  of  the  second  day  when  the  boat 
arrived  on  its  voyage  from  the  city. 

"If  you  are  afraid  to  sleep  in  the  house  with 
no  one  but  Phebe,  get  some  one  to  come  and  stay 
with  you,"  charged  Miss  Ri.  "Bertie  Bryan  will 
come,  I  am  sure." 

"I  shall  not  be  in  the  least  afraid,"  declared 
Linda.  "Phebe  and  I  have  often  stayed  in  the 
house  alone  at  Talbot's  Angles." 

"Nevertheless,  I  would  rather  you  did  have  some- 
one. I'll  send  Phebe  over  to  the  Bryans  with  a 
note."  This  she  did  in  spite  of  Linda's  protest  that 
it  was  not  necessary,  and  after  Linda  had  returned 
from  seeing  Miss  Ri  on  her  way,  Bertie  arrived. 
She  was  a  nice  wholesome  girl  who  had  been  a 
schoolmate  of  Linda's  and  had  spent  many  a  day 
with  her  at  Talbot's  Angles.  She  was  not  exactly 
a  beauty,  but  a  lovely  complexion  and  sweet  in- 
nocent eyes  helped  out  the  charm  of  frank  good 
nature  and  unaffected  geniality. 


66  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

"It  certainly  is  good  to  see  you  in  town,  Linda," 
she  said  as  she  greeted  her  friend.  "Why  didn't 
you  send  me  word  you  were  here?  I  would  have 
been  over  long  ago." 

"I  wanted  to  gather  my  wits  together  first.  I 
am  experimenting,  you  see,  and  I  didn't  know  how 
my  experiment  might  turn  out.  I  was  afraid  I 
might  have  to  slink  off  again  ignominiously  after 
the  first  week." 

"But,  as  this  is  the  second  week  and  you  are  not 
slinking,  I  surmise  it  is  all  right." 

"Not  exactly  all  right,  but  I  manage  to  keep  from 
having  hysterics,  and  am  getting  my  youngsters 
in  hand  better." 

"I  heard  Miss  Adams  say  this  morning  that  you 
were  getting  on  very  well  for  one  who  had  never 
had  any  experience." 

"That  is  the  most  encouraging  thing  I  have 
heard  yet.  I  have  been  wondering  what  my  prin- 
cipal really  did  think,  and  to  have  that  much  praise 
is  worth  a  great  deal,"  said  Linda  gratefully. 
"Now  don't  let  us  talk  shop.  Tell  me  what  is  go- 
ing on  in  town." 

"Don't  you  hear  every  bit  of  town  news  from 
Miss  Ri?  What  she  can't  tell  you  Miss  Parthy 
can." 

"I  haven't  seen  much  of  Miss  Parthy.  The  hob- 
nobbing between  those  two  generally  goes  on  while 


THE  ALARM  67 

I  am  at  school.  Have  you  met  the  mysterious 
stranger,  Bertie?" 

"Yes,  indeed,  and  he  is  quite  an  acquisition,  or 
would  be  if  he  could  find  his  trunk.  Have  you  met 
him?" 

Linda  smiled.  "No,  Miss  Ri  is  afraid  I  shall 
fall  in  love  with  him,  I  think,  and  has  stipulated 
that  he  is  only  to  call  at  such  hours  as  I  am  at 
school." 

"What  nonsense.  Is  she  making  a  recluse  of 
you?" 

"Oh,  no.  Berk  Matthews  is  allowed,  or  rather 
he  comes  without  being  allowed,  being  a  favorite 
and  liable  to  take  his  own  way.  Tell  me  more  of 
the  man  without  a  trunk." 

"Sounds  rather  ghastly,  doesn't  it?  Well,  he  is 
like  almost  any  other  nice  young  man,  has  good 
manners,  speaks  correctly,  makes  himself  agree- 
able when  the  opportunity  is  afforded.  It  is 
rumored  that  his  affairs  are  in  better  shape,  and 
that  money  orders  and  checks  and  things  have 
come  in,  so  he  is  no  longer  a  mere  travelling  photog- 
rapher." 

"I  wonder  he  stays  here  now  that  he  has  the 
means  to  get  away." 

"Oh,  but  he  came  prepared  to  stay.  At  least 
his  object  was  to  look  up  this  property.  He  has 
been  up  to  the  city  once  or  twice  and  is  still  hoping 


68  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

to  recover  the  trunk  which  he  thinks  must  be  in 
Baltimore  still.  In  the  meantime  he  is  very 
reticent  about  his  case,  won't  talk  of  it  to  anyone, 
so  nobody  seems  to  know  exactly  what  he  does 
claim." 

"The  name  is  very  familiar,"  remarked  Linda 
thoughtfully.  "I  can't  think  where  I  have  heard 
it." 

"There  is  some  sort  of  romantic  tale  about  him, 
Miss  Parthy  says.  She  seems  to  know  more  than 
anyone." 

"He  can't  be  a  duke  or  a  prince  in  disguise,"  said 
Linda. 

"He  might  be,  for  he  was  educated  abroad,  I 
have  heard." 

"Wyatt  Jeffreys — Jeffreys — I  can't  get  the  name 
located.  I  suppose  it  will  come  to  me  sometime." 

The  girls  had  a  quiet  chatty  evening  alone,  and 
started  upstairs  betimes.  To  Bertie  was  given  a 
room  opening  out  of  Linda's,  and  with  many  a 
good-night  they  at  last  settled  down  to  sleep. 

From  her  first  nap  Linda,  after  a  while,  was 
awakened  by  the  low  murmur  of  voices  beneath  her 
window.  She  listened  with  beating  heart.  No, 
there  was  no  mistake.  Should  she  arouse  Bertie? 
She  listened  for  a  few  moments  and  then  heard  a 
sound  as  of  someone  trying  a  shutter.  Next  a 
door-knob  rattled  slightly.  Though  frightened 
enough  Linda  was  no  coward,  and  as  she  sat  up 


THE  ALARM  69 

in  bed  listening,  her  brain  worked  rapidly.  It 
would  be  better  to  arouse  Bertie  than  to  go  prowl- 
ing around  alone,  and  have  her  friend  doubly 
alarmed.  Together  they  would  go  down  stairs  and 
perhaps  could  scare  off  the  would-be  burglars. 
Slipping  on  some  clothing  she  cautiously  went  to 
Bertie's  door,  candle  in  hand.  Flashing  the  light 
before  her  friend's  closed  eyes  she  succeeded  in 
awaking  without  alarming  her. 

"What's  the  matter,  Linda?"  asked  Bertie  sit- 
ting up  and  rubbing  her  eyes.  "Are  you  ill?  It 
isn't  morning,  is  it?" 

"No,  I'm  not  ill.  Don't  be  scared,  Bertie,  but 
get  up  and  put  on  some  clothes  quickly.  I  am  sure 
I  heard  someone  trying  to  get  into  the  house." 

"But  what  can  we  do?"  asked  Bertie  in  a  shaking 
voice.  "We  mustn't  go  down,  Linda;  we  mustn't. 
Let's  lock  the  doors  and  let  them  take  what  they 
want" 

"I  don't  believe  they  have  really  broken  in  yet, 
and  I  am  going  to  try  to  scare  them  away.  I  wish 
I  had  a  pistol;  I  left  mine  in  the  country,  not  sup- 
posing I  should  need  it  here." 

"I'm  sure  we  left  everything  safely  locked  and 
barred;  you  know  we  tried  every  door  and  win- 
dow." 

"Yes,  I  know.  It  wouldn't  be  any  sneak  thief, 
of  course.  I  have  a  plan.  Come  into  my  room 
and  let's  peep  out  the  window."  They  extinguished 


70  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

the  candle  and  crept  to  Linda's  window,  already 
raised.  There  was  no  one  in  sight. 

"Now  we'll  go  to  Miss  Ri's  room,"  whispered 
Linda.  Tiptoeing  across  the  hall  they  went  into 
this  room  at  the  front  of  the  house  and  gently 
raised  a  window  here. 

"I  believe  I  hear  someone  on  the  porch,"  whis- 
pered Linda,  drawing  in  her  head.  "Someone 
is  at  the  front  door.  Come  on  down.  They  are 
not  inside  yet;  that  is  a  comfort." 

"Oh,  but  do  you  think  we  ought  to  go?"  asked 
Bertie  in  trepidation.  "Suppose  they  should  get 
in  and  shoot  us." 

"No,  they  are  still  outside,  I  am  sure." 

The  rooms  below  were  dark  and  silent,  windows 
and  shutters  tightly  closed.  The  girls  listened  at 
the  front  door.  Yes,  surely  there  was  a  very  low 
murmur  of  voices.  Linda  crept  into  the  dining- 
room,  Bertie  holding  tightly  to  her  sleeve. 

"What  are  you  going  to  do?"  asked  Bertie  fear- 
fully. 

"I'll  show  you.  Don't  be  scared,  and  don't  hold 
on  to  me." 

"But  what  are  you  going  to  do?" 

"I'm  going  to  blow  up  some  paper  bags.  You 
take  this  one  and  blow  into  it  while  I  open  the  win- 
dow. As  soon  as  it  is  up  burst  your  bag,  and  I'll 
get  mine  ready.  Say  when  you  are  ready." 

"Ready !"  whispered  Bertie  and  up  went  the  win- 


DON  T  SHOOT! 


THE  ALARM  71 

dow,  back  shot  the  bolt  and  upon  the  silence  of 
the  night  sounded  a  loud  report  quickly  followed  by 
a  second. 

"Hallo!"  cried  a  surprised  voice.  "Here,  Miss 
Linda,  don't  shoot." 

The  girls  who  had  drawn  back  from  the  window 
clutched  one  another,  but  felt  an  immense  relief. 

There  were  footsteps  on  the  porch  and  presently 
two  figures  appeared  before  the  open  window. 
"Hallo,  in  there,"  called  someone.  "It's  only  I, 
Berk  Matthews,  Miss  Linda." 

The  two  girls  approached  the  window.  "What 
in  the  world  are  you  doing  prowling  around  here 
at  this  time  of  night,  trying  our  bolts  and  bars?" 
asked  Linda,  indignantly.  "You  scared  us  nearly 
to  death." 

"And  don't  you  reckon  you  gave  us  a  good  scare. 
It  is  lucky  you  don't  see  one  of  us  weltering  in  gore, 
Linda  Talbot.  Just  like  a  girl  to  be  reckless  with 
fire-arms." 

Bertie  stifled  a  giggle  and  pinched  Linda's  arm. 

"It  would  serve  you  right  to  welter,"  Linda  re- 
plied severely.  "What  right  had  you  to  try  to 
frighten  us,  I  demand  ?" 

"We  didn't  intend  to,  but  I  promised  Miss  Ri 
faithfully  that  I  would  make  a  point  of  coming 
around  here  after  you  had  gone  to  bed  to  see  if  by 
any  chance  some  door  or  window  had  been  left 
insecure." 


72  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

"Well,  you  might  have  told  us  what  you  were 
going  to  do,"  returned  Linda  somewhat  mollified. 

"I  couldn't/'  returned  Berkley  meekly,  "for  I 
haven't  seen  you  since,  and — Do  you  happen  to 
know  Mr.  Jeffreys  ?  Here,  Jeffreys,  I  want  to  pre- 
sent you  to  Miss  Talbot  and — who  is  with  you, 
Linda?" 

"Bertie  Bryan." 

"And  Miss  Bryan.  It  is  rather  dark  to  tell 
which  from  t'other,  but  I  would  like  especially  to 
warn  you  against  Miss  Talbot.  She  carries  a  pis- 
tol and  in  her  hot  rage  against  us  may  still  yearn 
for  prey." 

"It  was  Bertie  who  fired  the  first  shot,"  declared 
Linda  with  a  gravity  which  brought  a  giggle  from 
Bertie.     "Don't  tell  what  it  was,"  whispered  Linda, 
to  her. 

"Oh,"  said  Mr.  Jeffreys,  "I  have  met  Miss  Bryan, 
so  it  will  not  be  difficult  to  identify  her  when  she 
is  brought  up  with  intent  to  kill." 

"Well,  whatever  happens  to-morrow,  we  mustn't 
keep  these  ladies  from  their  slumbers  now,"  said 
Berkley.  "I'm  awfully  sorry,  girls,  really  I  am, 
that  we  frightened  you.  We  tried  not  to  make  any 
noise.  Let's  be  friends.  We  will  forgive  you  for 
the  shooting  if  you  will  forgive  us  for  the  scare." 

"But,"  said  Linda,  "the  laugh  is  entirely  on  our 
side,  for — it  wasn't  a  pistol.  Please  shut  in  the 
shutters,  Berk,  and  I'll  fasten  them  inside." 


THE  ALARM  73 

"It  wasn't  a  pistol  ?  Then  what  in  the  world  was 
it  ?"  Berkley  paused  in  the  act  of  closing  the  shut- 
ters. 

''Paper  bags!"  returned  Linda  pulling  the  shut- 
ters together  with  a  bang  and  closing  the  window, 
while  upon  the  quiet  of  the  night  rang  out  a  hearty 
peal  of  laughter  from  the  two  outside. 

"It's  lucky  I  didn't  use  a  bottle  of  ammonia  to 
throw  in  their  faces,"  remarked  Linda  as  the  girls 
climbed  the  stairs.  "That  was  my  first  thought, 
but  the  bags  were  handy  in  my  washstand  drawer." 

"It  was  an  awfully  good  joke,"  replied  Bertie, 
"and  I  wouldn't  have  missed  it,  scared  as  I  was  at 
first.  I  was  dreadfully  afraid  of  burglars  getting 
in  and  chloroforming  us." 

"Did  you  ever  hear  of  the  girl  who  slept  with 
her  head  at  the  foot  of  her  bed  and  who  was  roused 
by  feeling  something  cold  on  her  toes?  A  burglar 
was  chloroforming  them,  and  she  let  him  do  it,  then 
when  he  was  out  of  the  room  she  jumped  up, 
locked  her  door  and  gave  the  alarm." 

Bertie  laughed.  "There  is  no  fear  of  burglars 
now,  I  think,  when  we  have  two  self-appointed 
watchmen." 

"It  does  give  us  a  safer  feeling,"  acknowledged 
Linda. 

"So  we  can  rest  in  peace,"  returned  Bertie  go- 
ing to  her  room. 

There  was  no  disturbing  of  slumbers  the  next 


74  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

night,  for  the  young  men  made  noise  enough  to 
arouse  the  girls,  who,  in  fact,  had  not  gone  to  bed 
when  stentorian  voices  called  to  them,  "Here  we 
are.  Get  out  your  ammunition.  We're  ready  to 
stand  fire." 

The  girls  looked  down  from  above.  "Anyone 
who  is  scared  at  a  bag  of  wind  would  be  sure  to 
run  from  a  flash  in  the  pan,"  called  Bertie.  "We 
won't  test  your  courage  to-night,  Berk." 

"Did  you  find  everything  all  right?"  asked 
Linda. 

"All's  well,"  answered  Berkley. 

"Thank  you,  watchmen,"  returned  Linda,  and 
then  the  window  was  closed  and  the  young  men 
tramped  off  softly  singing:  "Good-night,  ladies." 


CHAPTER  VI 

AN    INQUISITIVE    NEIGHBOR 

Miss  Ri  returned  in  due  time.  The  girls  were  at 
breakfast  when  she  came  in  bearing  a  small  pack- 
age which  she  laid  on  the  table,  a  merry  twinkle 
in  her  eye.  "Well,  girls,"  she  exclaimed,  "so  no- 
body has  carried  you  off,  I  see." 

The  girls  laughed.  "No  one  has,  although — " 
began  Linda. 

"Don't  tell  me  anything  has  happened,"  ex- 
claimed Miss  Ri.  "Now  isn't  that  just  the  way? 
I  might  stay  at  home  a  thousand  years  and  noth- 
ing would  happen.  Tell  me  about  it.  I'm  glad  it's 
Saturday,  Verlinda,  so  you  don't  have  to  hurry. 
Just  touch  the  bell  for  Phebe  to  bring  in  some  hot 
coffee.  I  don't  take  meals  on  the  boat  when  I  know 
what  I  can  get  at  home.  Those  rolls  look  deli- 
cious." 

"Did  you  have  a  good  trip,  Miss  Ri?"  asked 
Bertie. 

"Never  had  such  a  stupid  one.  I  didn't  get  a 
good  state-room  going  up,  and  what  with  the  men 
talking  in  the  cabin  outside  my  door  all  night,  and 

75 


76  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

the  calves  bleating  in  their  stalls  below,  I  did  not 
get  a  wink  of  sleep,  and  there  never  was  such  a 
stupid  sale." 

"Sale?  Oh,  you  went  to  a  sale?  Of  what?" 
Bertie  was  interested. 

"Oh,  just  things — all  kinds  of  things,"  returned 
Miss  Ri  vaguely.  Then,  turning  her  attention  to 
her  breakfast  she  said,  "Go  on  now,  and  tell  me 
all  that  has  been  going  on." 

The  girls  delivered  themselves  of  the  news  of 
their  adventure  with  supposed  burglars  to  the  great 
entertainment  of  Miss  Ri,  and  then  a  message  com- 
ing to  Bertie  from  her  mother,  she  departed  while 
Miss  Ri  finished  her  breakfast. 

"I've  almost  as  good  a  tale  to  tell  myself,"  re- 
marked that  lady  as  she  folded  her  napkin.  "I 
think  I  shall  have  to  tell  you,  Linda,  but  you  must 
promise  not  to  repeat  it.  I  couldn't  have  told  it 
to  Bertie  for  she  would  never  rest  till  she  had 
passed  it  on.  However,  I  can  trust  you,  and  you 
mustn't  hint  of  it  to  Bertie  of  all  people." 

Linda  gave  the  required  promise,  Miss  Ri  picked 
up  her  wraps  and  the  small  bundle,  and  proposed 
they  should  go  into  the  sitting-room  where  the  sun 
was  shining  brightly.  They  settled  themselves 
comfortably  and  Miss  Ri  proceeded  to  unfold  her 
secret.  "Berk  was  entirely  too  keen  when  he  said 
I  had  a  special  purpose  in  going  to  town  periodi- 
cally," she  began.  "I  have  a  harmless  little  fad, 


AN  INQUISITIVE  NEIGHBOR          77 

Verlinda ;  it  is  nothing  more  nor  less  than  the  buy- 
ing of  "old  horse"  if  you  know  what  that  is." 

"I'm  sure  I  don't,"  Linda  confessed. 

"It's  the  stuff  that  collects  at  the  express  office; 
it  may  have  been  sent  to  a  wrong  address,  or  in 
some  way  has  failed  of  being  delivered.  When  it 
has  accumulated  for  so  many  months  they  sell  it 
at  auction  to  the  highest  bidder.  I  have  had  some 
rare  fun  over  it  for  it  is  much  on  the  principle  of 
a  grab-bag  at  a  fair.  Of  course  I  never  venture 
a  large  sum  and  I  generally  go  early  enough  to 
look  around  and  make  up  my  mind  just  what  I 
will  bid  on.  Once  I  had  a  whole  barrel  of  glass 
ware  knocked  down  to  me ;  another  time  I  was  for- 
tunate enough  to  get  a  whole  case  of  canned  goods 
of  all  sorts.  This  time — "  she  shook  her  head  as 
denying  her  good  luck.  "I  saw  this  neat  little  pack- 
age which  looked  as  if  it  might  contain  something 
very  nice;  it  had  such  a  compact  orderly  appear- 
ance, so  I  bid  on  it,  only  up  to  fifty  cents,  Verlinda, 
and  when  I  came  out  of  the  place  to  take  the  car 
I  couldn't  forbear  from  tearing  the  paper  in  order 
to  peep  in.  I  saw  a  nice  wooden  box,  and  I  said 
to  myself,  'Here  is  something  worth  while.'  I  had 
some  errands  to  do  before  boat  time  so  didn't 
examine  further  until  I  was  in  my  state-room, 
then  I  opened  the  box  and  what  do  you  think  I 
found?" 

"I     can't     imagine."     Linda's     curiosity     was 


78  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

aroused.  She  looked  interestedly  at  the  small 
parcel. 

"I  found  a  bottle,"  Miss  Ri  chuckled,  "a  bottle  of 
what  is  evidently  nice,  home-made  cough  syrup, 
sent  by  some  well-meaning  mother  to  her  son  who 
had  left  the  address  to  which  it  was  sent.  As  I 
haven't  an  idea  of  the  ingredients  I  don't  dare  pass 
it  along  to  anyone  else.  I  was  tempted  to  chuck 
it  in  the  river,  but  I  thought  I  would  bring  it  home 
to  you."  She  made  great  form  of  presenting  it  to 
Linda  who  took  it  laughing. 

'Til  give  it  to  Phebe,"  declared  the  girl.  "She'd 
love  to  take  it  when  she  has  a  'mis'ry  in  her  chist.' ' 

"Don't  you  do  it,"  cried  Miss  Ri  in  alarm.  "It 
might  make  her  really  ill,  and  then  who  would 
cook  for  us  ?  Give  it  right  back  to  me."  She  pos- 
sessed herself  of  the  bottle,  trotted  back  to  the  din- 
ing-room where  she  emptied  the  contents  into  the 
slop-bowl,  returning  to  the  sitting-room  with  the 
empty  bottle  in  her  hand.  "You  can  have  the 
bottle,"  she  said,  "and  the  nice  wooden  box.  I 
don't  want  to  keep  any  reminder  of  my  folly." 

"And  you  have  sworn  off?" 

Miss  Ri  laughed.  "Not  exactly.  At  least  I've 
sworn  off  before,  but  I  am  always  seized  with  the 
craze  as  soon  as  I  see  the  advertisement  in  the 
paper.  Once  I  was  cheated  out  of  a  dollar  by  get- 
ting a  box  of  decayed  fruit,  and  another  time  I  got 
a  parcel  of  old  clothes  that  I  gave  to  Randy  after 


AN  INQUISITIVE  NEIGHBOR         79 

making  her  boil  them  to  get  rid  of  any  lingering 
microbes.  This  is  the  third  time  I  have  been  bam- 
boozled, but  very  likely  next  time  I  will  draw  a 
prize.  Goodness,  Verlinda,  if  here  doesn't  come 
Grace  and  her  sister.  Do  you  suppose  they  are  off 
for  the  city  to-night?" 

"I  think  it  is  very  probable,"  returned  Linda  as 
she  followed  Miss  Ri  to  the  door. 

Even  though  she  did  not  admire  Grace  Talbot, 
Miss  Ri  could  not  be  anything  but  graciously 
hospitable,  and  was  ready  to  greet  the  visitors 
heartily  as  they  came  up  on  the  porch.  "Well, 
Mrs.  Talbot,"  she  exclaimed,  "come  right  in.  This 
is  your  sister,  isn't  it?  How  are  you,  Miss  John- 
son. It  is  lucky  you  chose  Saturday  when  Linda 
is  at  home.  You'll  stay  to  dinner,  of  course. 
Here,  let  me  take  those  bags.  Are  you  on  your 
way  to  the  city?" 

"Yes,"  returned  Grace,  "we're  leaving  for  the 
winter.  Howdy,  Linda."  She  viewed  her  sister- 
in-law  critically,  finding  her  paler  and  thinner,  but 
keeping  the  discovery  to  herself.  Lauretta,  how- 
ever, spoke  her  thought.  "I  don't  believe  town 
agrees  with  you  as  well  as  country,  Linda.  You 
look  a  little  peaked." 

"That  conies  from  being  shut  up  in  a  school- 
room," Miss  Ri  hastened  to  say;  "it  is  trying 
work." 

"She  will  get  used  to  it  in  time,"  Grace  replied. 


80  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

"Why,  there  is  Miss  Sally  Price  about  as  sturdy 
and  rosy  as  anyone  I  know,  and  she's  been  teach- 
ing twenty-five  years.  What  lovely  old  tables  you 
have,  Miss  Ri.  They  remind  me  of  grandmother's, 
don't  they  you,  Lauretta  ?  Dear  grandmother,  she 
was  such  a  very  particular  old  dame  and  would 
have  her  mahogany  and  silver  always  shining.  I 
remember  how  she  would  say  to  her  butler,  'James, 
that  service  is  not  as  bright  as  it  should  be.' ' 
Grace's  imitation  of  her  various  forbears  always 
conveyed  the  idea  that  they  were  most  haughty  and 
severe  personages  who  never  spoke  except  with 
military  peremptoriness.  She  was  constantly  refer- 
ring to  grandmother  Johnson,  or  great-uncle  Blair 
or  someone  utterly  irrelevant  to  the  topic  of  the 
moment,  and  as  entirely  uninteresting  to  her  audi- 
ence. 

"Did  you  leave  everything  all  right  at  the  farm?" 
asked  Linda,  hastening  to  change  the  subject.  She 
knew  that  great-uncle  Blair  would  be  paraded  next, 
if  the  slightest  opportunity  was  allowed. 

"Everything  is  as  it  should  be,"  returned  Grace 
high-and-mightily.  "You  didn't  suppose  for  an 
instant,  Linda,  that  I  would  leave  anything  at  loose 
ends.  Of  course,  it  has  been  most  arduous  work 
for  Lauretta  and  I,  but  we  have  the  satisfaction 
of  knowing  that  we  have  not  neglected  anything. 
I  am  completely  fagged  out,  and  feel  that  a  rest  is 
essential." 


Miss  Ri's  eye  travelled  from  Grace's  plump 
proportions  to  Linda's  slight  figure.  "Well,"  she 
said  bluntly,  "work  evidently  agrees  with  you,  for 
I  never  saw  you  looking  better." 

Grace  bit  her  lip  and  searched  her  mind  for  a 
fitting  retort  but  could  only  say  piously,  "One  must 
bear  up  for  the  sake  of  others.  .The  world  can- 
not see  behind  the  scenes,  my  dear  Miss  Hill,  and 
that  a  smile  may  hide  a  breaking  heart." 

"Come  up  and  see  my  room,"  proposed  Linda, 
anxious  to  prevent  what  promised  to  be  a  passage 
at  arms  between  Miss  Ri  and  Grace.  "Come, 
Lauretta,  I  want  you  to  see  the  view  from  my  win- 
dows." And  so  she  managed  to  get  them  away  be- 
fore there  were  any  hurt  feelings. 

After  this  matters  passed  off  well  enough,  al- 
though great-uncle  Blair  was  dragged  in  more  than 
once  at  the  dinner  table,  and  grandmother  John- 
son's haughty  attitude  toward  underlings  was  again 
reproduced  for  the  benefit  of  all.  Miss  Ri  chafed 
under  the  affectations,  but  was  too  polite  to  show 
it,  though  when  the  door  at  last  closed  upon  her 
guests  she  turned  to  Linda. 

"I'm  glad  enough  they  are  not  your  blood  kin, 
Verlinda  Talbot.  I  hope  Heaven  will  give  me 
patience  always  to  behave  with  politeness  when 
Grace  Talbot  is  around.  A  daily  dose  of  her  would 
be  too  much  for  my  Christian  forbearance.  I 
wonder  you  stood  her  so  long,  and  what  Martin  was 


82  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

thinking  of  to  be  blinded  by  a  superficial,  shallow, 
underbred  creature  like  that  is  beyond  me." 

"Grace  has  her  good  points,"  said  Linda  with  an 
effort  to  be  loyal.  "I  think  she  was  genuinely  fond 
of  Martin." 

"You  mean  she  was  fond  of  his  fondness  for 
her.  There  is  a  lot  of  difference,  my  dear.  The 
idea  of  her  trying  to  parade  her  ancestors  before 
me.  Why,  old  John  Blair  was  the  plainest  of  the 
plain,  a  decent,  humble  sort  of  man  who  accumu- 
lated a  tidy  little  sum  which  his  sister  Eliza  John- 
son inherited;  the  Johnsons  hadn't  a  picayune;  I 
know  all  about  them.  I  have  heard  my  grand- 
father speak  of  John  Blair  and  his  sister  a  dozen 
times.  They  lived  down  in  East  Baltimore  and  he 
had  a  little  carpenter  shop.  Grandfather  used  to 
tell  a  funny  story  of  how  Blair  brought  him  in  a 
bill  in  which  he  had  spelled  tacks,  t-a-x.  'That 
isn't  the  way  to  spell  tacks,  John,'  said  grand- 
father. John  scratched  his  head  and  looked  at  the 
bill.  'Well,  Mr.  Hill/  he  said;  'if  t-a-x  don't  spell 
tacks,  what  do  it  spell?'  He  was  a  good  honest 
man  enough,  and  afterward  became  a  builder,  but 
he  never  put  on  any  airs,  as  why  should  he?  You 
may  talk  a  great  deal  about  your  grandfather,  and 
make  much  display  of  your  family  silver,  my  dear, 
but  if  you  don't  speak  correct  English  the  ancestors 
don't  count  for  much.  Evidently  Grace  thinks 


AN  INQUISITIVE  NEIGHBOR          83 

solid  silver  is  vastly  more  important  than  correct 
speech." 

"You  certainly  are  put  out  of  humor  this  time, 
Miss  Ri." 

"Oh,  such  people  exasperate  me  beyond  words. 
'Major  Forbes  sent  tickets  to  Lauretta  and  I.'  To 
I,  forsooth.  'Mrs.  General  So-and-So  invited 
Grace  and  I  to  tea/  Invited  I,  did  she?" 

"It  seems  there  is  a  necessity  for  a  schoolmarm  in 
the  family,"  remarked  Linda. 

"Yes,  but  the  unfortunate  part  of  it  is  that  they 
haven't  a  ghost  of  an  idea  that  they  do  need  one. 
Well,  let  them  go  up  to  the  city,  to  their  Major 
Forbes  and  their  Mrs.  Generals,  I  say,  and  I  hope 
to  goodness  Grace  will  marry  her  major  and  good 
luck  to  him." 

"Oh,  Miss  Ri." 

"I  can't  help  it.  Let  me  rave  for  awhile.  I  shall 
feel  better  afterward.  Did  you  ever  know  such  a 
talker  as  she  is?  She  is  as  bad  as  Becky,  and  did 
you  hear  Lauretta?  Toor  dear  Grace  does  so 
draw  upon  her  vitality/  Oh,  dear  me,  what  fools 
we  mortals  be." 

"And  you  are  the  one  who  never  gets  mad  with 
fools." 

"I  don't,  as  a  rule,  but  when  a  person  is  as  many 
kinds  of  a  fool  as  Grace  is  I  can't  grapple  with  all 
the  varieties  at  one  sitting.  There  now,  I  have 


84  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

finished  my  tirade.  I  won't  abuse  your  in-laws  any 
more.  Let  us  hope  they  have  passed  out  of  our 
lives.  Now  let  us  talk  about  something  pleasant. 
How  do  you  like  Mr.  Jeffreys  ?" 

"Is  he  something  pleasant?  I  really  haven't  had 
a  chance  to  decide.  We  met  in  the  dark  and  we 
didn't  exchange  a  dozen  words.  Bertie  likes  him." 

Miss  Ri  sat  looking  out  of  the  window,  drum- 
ming on  the  arms  of  her  chair  with  her  strong 
capable  fingers.  "I  wish  I  knew,"  she  murmured; 
"I  wish  I  knew.  Has  Berk  been  here?"  she  asked 
presently. 

"If  you  call  his  nocturnal  prowlings  visits,  he 
has." 

"Oh,  I  don't  mean  those,  but,  of  course,  he 
wouldn't  come.  I  must  see  him.  I  think  I'd  better 
call  him  up,  although  he  is  pretty  sure  to  look  in 
upon  us  this  evening." 

After  the  strain  consequent  upon  Grace's  visit, 
Linda  felt  that  even  Miss  Ri's  cheerful  chatter  was 
more  than  she  could  stand,  so  she  sought  an  op- 
portune moment  to  escape  to  the  lawn  and  from 
there  to  wander  down  the  box-bordered  walks  to 
the  foot  of  the  garden.  The  chickens  in  Miss 
Parthy's  premises  on  the  other  side  of  the  fence, 
were  discoursing  in  their  accustomed  manner  be- 
fore going  to  roost,  making  contented  little  sounds 
as  someone  threw  them  handfuls  of  grain.  Once 
in  a  while  would  come  a  discordant  "Caw !  Caw !" 


AN  INQUISITIVE  NEIGHBOR          85 

as  an  over-greedy  rooster  would  set  upon  one  less 
aggressive.  It  all  sounded  very  homelike  and 
Linda  wondered  how  matters  were  going  with  the 
familiar  flocks  she  had  left  at  home.  Grace's  com- 
ing, her  talk  of  affairs  at  the  farm  had  made  a 
great  wave  of  homesickness  come  over  the  girl  as 
she  approached  the  fence  to  look  at  Miss  Parthy's 
chickens.  These,  she  discovered,  were  being  fed 
with  careful  hand  by  some  other  than  Miss  Parthy. 
A  young  man  with  crisp  auburn  hair,  which  was 
cropped  close.  He  had  a  good  figure,  and  rather 
a  serious  expression.  His  eyes,  much  the  color 
of  his  hair,  were  turned  quickly  upon  Linda  as  her 
face  appeared  above  the  fence.  "Good-evening, 
Miss  Talbot,"  he  said. 

"Good-evening,  Mr.  Jeffreys,"  she  returned. 
"How  is  it  you  are  taking  Miss  Parthy's  tasks 
upon  yourself?" 

"Oh,  I  begged  leave  to  do  it.  I  like  it.  Don't 
you  think  chickens  are  very  amusing?  They  are 
as  different  in  character  as  people,  and  give  me  as 
much  amusement  as  a  crowd  of  human  beings. 
Look  at  that  ridiculous  little  hen;  she  reminds  me 
of  a  girl  scared  by  a  mouse  the  way  she  jumps 
every  time  I  throw  down  a  handful  of  food." 

"Don't  you  think,"  said  Linda  mockingly,  "that 
it  is  more  reasonable  to  be  afraid  of  creepy  things 
like  mice  than  to  be  frightened  out  of  your  wits 
by  a  paper  bag?" 


86  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

"You  have  me  there,"  returned  the  young  man. 
"That  was  certainly  one  on  us.  I  hope  you  have 
not  been  disturbed  since." 

"Oh,  no,  and  now  my  natural  protector  has  re- 
turned, I  shall  feel  perfectly  safe.  You  know  Miss 
Ri,  I  believe." 

"Oh,  yes.  She  is  a  most  interesting  character. 
She  doesn't  run  from  mice,  I  fancy." 

"No,  and  neither  do  I." 

"Really?  Then  you  are  a  rarity  whom  I  am 
fortunate  in  meeting.  I  understand,  Miss  Talbot, 
that  your  home  is  some  distance  from  this 
town." 

"My  home  was  some  distance,  about  seven  miles 
away." 

"On  Broad  Creek?  Do  the  Talbots  come  from 
that  neighborhood?" 

"Yes,  they  are  old  settlers.  We  hold  the  orig- 
inal land  grant  from  Lord  Baltimore." 

"That  is  interesting.  Did  you  ever  happen  to 
know  of  a  Madison  Talbot  who  lived — let  me  see 
—about  1812  or  thereabouts?" 

"Why,  yes.  That  was  the  name  of  my  great- 
grandfather." 

"It  was?" 

"Why  do  you  ask?"  inquired  Linda  curiously. 

"Oh,  because  I  have  heard  the  name.  My 
grandfather  has  mentioned  him.  I  believe  he  knew 
him,  and  coming  down  to  this  unexplored  region, 


AN  INQUISITIVE  NEIGHBOR          87 

I  am  naturally  reminded  of  anyone  who  might  have 
been  connected  with  what  I  have  heard  of  it." 

"Unexplored?     Do  you  mean  by  yourself?" 

"Well,  yes,  and  by  some  others.  I  doubt  if  the 
majority  of  those  one  meets  could  locate  this  special 
town,  for  instance." 

"Anyone  who  knows  anything  must  have  heard 
of  it,"  said  Linda  with  innocent  conviction. 

"Oh,  I  am  not  disparaging  it.  In  some  respects 
it  is  the  nicest  place  I  ever  saw.  Tell  me  something 
about  your  home  there  on  Broad  Creek." 

Linda's  eyes  grew  wistful.  "It  is  the  dearest 
spot  on  earth.  The  house  is  old  and  low  and  queer, 
with  rambling  rooms  that  go  up  a  step  here,  down 
one  there.  The  water  is  always  in  sight,  and 
through  the  trees  you  can  see  the  old  church;  it  is 
on  our  ground,  you  know,  and  there  is  an  old 
windmill  on  the  place.  I  should  hate  to  have  that 
old  windmill  taken  away.  I  used  to  watch  its  long 
arms  go  around  and  around  when  I  was  a  child, 
and  I  made  up  all  sorts  of  tales  about  it." 

"How  many  acres  are  there  ?"  Mr.  Jeffreys  asked 
the  practical  question  suddenly. 

"About  two  or  three  hundred.  There  was  an- 
other farm.  It  all  belonged  to  the  same  estate  orig- 
inally, or  at  least  there  were  two  farms,  and  ours 
is  the  older.  My  brother  brought  it  up  wonder- 
fully, and  it  is  in  very  good  condition  now.  My 
father  was  in  ill  health  for  years  and  when  he  died 


88  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

his  affairs  were  in  a  sad  state;  the  farm  was  not 
making  anything  till  my  brother  took  hold  of  it." 

"And  it  is  yours  ?" 

Linda  wondered  at  the  question.  She  colored 
with  both  indignation  and  confusion.  "It  is  my 
home,"  she  replied  with  dignity,  "and  it  is  the  dear- 
est spot  on  earth  to  me."  Having  made  this  an- 
swer she  turned  from  the  fence  and  resumed  her 
walk  while  Mr.  Jeffreys  gave  one  wide  flourish 
with  his  pan  of  screenings  and  then  walked  thought- 
fully back  to  the  house  where  Miss  Parthy  waited 
supper. 


CHAPTER  VII 

WAS    IT    CURIOSITY? 

"Don't  talk  to  me  about  the  curiosity  of  women," 
said  Linda  coming  upon  Miss  Ri  after  her  return 
walk.  "The  new  importation  at  Miss  Parthy's 
is  certainly  the  most  inquisitive  person  it  has  ever 
been  my  lot  to  meet.  I  was  prepared  to  like  him 
from  what  Bertie  told  me,  but  I  never  met  a  man 
who  could  ask  such  personal  questions  upon  such 
short  acquaintance." 

"Why,  Linda,  I  never  thought  he  could  be  called 
exactly  rude.  Perhaps  he  doesn't  pay  one  those 
little  courteous  attentions  that  we  are  used  to  down 
here,  though  he  is  polite  enough  as  I  remember. 
Parthy  and  I  have  wondered  whether  he  could  be 
an  adventurer,  or  whether  he  were  a  visionary  sort 
of  person  or  what,  but  we  have  come  to  the  con- 
clusion that  he  is  neither." 

"I  shouldn't  be  at  all  surprised  if  he  were  an  ad- 
venturer and  that  he  has  come  down  here  to  hunt 
up  some  unsuspecting  damsel  with  property  of  her 
own  whom  he  could  beguile  into  marrying  him." 

"Why,  my  child,  did  he  ask  you  to  marry  him?" 

"Oh,  dear  no,  I  hope  not,  since  my  first  real  con- 

89 


90  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

versation  with  him  has  just  taken  place,  but  he 
wanted  to  know  all  about  Talbot's  Angles,  how 
much  land  there  was  and  all  that,  and  he  wound 
up  by  inquiring  if  it  belonged  to  me." 

"That  does  look  somewhat  suspicious,  though  it 
does  not  show  much  tact,  if  his  object  is  really  what 
you  surmise.  A  real  adventurer  would  make  his 
inquiries  of  someone  else.  I  wouldn't  judge  him 
too  severely.  He  says  he  is  looking  up  an  old  claim, 
you  know,  and  it  may  lie  near  your  place.  I 
would  wait  and  see  what  happens." 

"Tell  me,  Miss  Ri,  did  he  bring  any  sort  of 
credentials  with  him?" 

"Yes,  I  think  so,  at  least  he  gave  Berk  a  busi- 
ness card  and  said  he  was  well  known  by  the  in- 
surance company  by  whom  he  had  been  employed 
in  Hartford,  and  that  he  had  friends  there  who 
could  vouch  for  him,  and  he  said  he  had  a  number 
of  letters  in  his  trunk." 

"Oh,  says,  says ;  it's  easy  enough  to  say.  I  don't 
believe  he  ever  had  a  trunk,  and  I  believe  his  story 
is  made  out  of  whole  cloth." 

"Why,  Verlinda,  dear,  I  never  knew  you  so  bitter. 
Do  give  the  lad  a  chance  to  prove  himself." 

"I  thought  you  didn't  want  me  to  know  him. 
You  know  you  said  you  weren't  going  to  have  him 
come  when  I  was  at  home." 

"Oh,  well,  I  didn't  mean  that  exactly;  I  only 
wanted  to  provide  against  your  flying  off  into  a 


WAS  IT  CURIOSITY?  91 

sentimental  attitude,  but  now  you  have  gone  to  the 
other  extreme;  I  don't  want  that  either.  Parthy 
says  there  never  was  a  more  considerate  man,  and 
that  he  is  not  any  trouble  at  all.  Of  course,  he 
hasn't  the  little  thoughtful  ways  that  Berk  has ;  he 
doesn't  always  stand  with  his  hat  off  when  he  is 
talking  to  me  in  the  street,  and  he  doesn't  rise  to 
his  feet  every  time  I  leave  my  chair,  and  stand  till 
I  am  seated.  He  has  allowed  my  handkerchief  to 
lie  till  I  chose  to  pick  it  up  myself,  and  doesn't  al- 
ways spring  to  open  the  door  for  me ;  in  those  things 
he  differs  from  Berk,  but  he  is  certainly  quiet  and 
dignified.  There  comes  Berk  now,  Verlinda ;  I  knew 
he'd  be  along  about  supper  time." 

Berkley's  broad  shoulders  were  seen  over  the 
rows  of  chrysanthemums  and  scarlet  salvia  as  he 
took  a  leisurely  passage  up  the  gravelled  walk.  He 
waved  a  hand  in  greeting.  "I  knew  I  wasn't  too 
late  because  I  saw  you  both  from  the  street." 

"And  of  course  you  hurried  before  that?"  ques- 
tioned Miss  Ri. 

"Yes,  I  always  make  it  a  point  to  hurry  if  there 
is  a  chance  of  being  late  to  supper,  but  I  never 
hurry  when  there  is  no  need  to.  I  don't  wish  to 
squander  my  vital  energies,  you  see.  What's  for 
supper,  Miss  Ri?" 

"You  haven't  been  invited  to  take  it  with  us,  yet." 

"I  don't  have  to  be.  Once,  many  a  year  ago,  you 
said,  'Berk,  drop  in  whenever  you  feel  like  it,'  and 


92  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

I  have  piously  enshrined  that  saying  upon  the 
tablets  of  my  memory.  Once  invited,  always  in- 
vited, you  see,  so  I  repeat  my  anxious  query :  what's 
for  supper?" 

"I  am  sure  I  don't  know.  Linda  did  the  order- 
ing this  morning  for  I  wasn't  here." 

"Tell  me,  Linda."  Berkley  had  dropped  formali- 
ties since  the  evening  of  song. 

Linda  shook  her  head.  "As  if  I  could  be  ex- 
pected to  remember  things  that  occurred  this  morn- 
ing before  breakfast ;  so  many  things  have  happened 
since  then." 

"Things  have  happened  in  this  blessed  sleepy  old 
place?  That  is  news.  I  didn't  know  anything 
could  happen  in  Sandbridge." 

"Oh,  they  might  not  be  important  to  you,  but  they 
are  to  me." 

"Then,  of  course,  they  are  important  to  me." 

"A  very  nice  speech,  sir.  Well,  in  the  first  place, 
Miss  Ri  has  returned,  as  you  see.  Then  Grace  and 
Lauretta  were  here  and  have  just  departed  for  the 
city." 

"For  good?" 

"Let  us  hope  it  is  for  good  only,"  put  in  Miss 
Ri. 

"Sh!  Sh!"  warned  Linda.  "That  wasn't  pretty, 
Miss  Ri.  Then  I  have  been  talking  over  the  fence 
to  your  friend,  Mr.  Jeffreys,  and  he  has  aroused 
my  antagonism  to  a  degree." 


WAS  IT  CURIOSITY?  93 

"He  has?"  Berkley  looked  surprised.  "I  don't 
see  why  or  how  he  could  do  that." 

"Wait  till  she  tells  you,  Berk,"  Miss  Ri  spoke  up. 
"I  am  going  in  to  tell  Phebe  to  set  another  place 
at  table.  If  I  am  to  have  guests  thrust  upon  me 
whether  I  invite  them  or  not,  I  must  be  decent 
enough  to  see  that  they  have  plates  to  eat  from." 
She  left  the  two  to  saunter  on  to  the  house  while 
she  entered  the  path  which  led  to  the  kitchen. 

Linda  recounted  her  tale  to  which  Berk  listened 
attentively.  "What  do  you  think  of  a  man  who 
would  put  such  questions  to  a  perfect  stranger?" 
queried  Linda. 

Berkley  knit  his  brows.  "Looks  like  one  of  two 
things ;  either  unqualified  curiosity  or  a  deeper  pur- 
pose, that  of  finding  out  all  about  the  farm  on  ac- 
count of  personal  interest  in  it." 

"But  what  nonsense.  You  don't  mean  he  thinks 
that's  the  place  to  which  he  lays  claim?  Why, 
we've  held  the  grant  for  hundreds  of  years." 

"We  don't  know  what  he  thinks;  I  am  not  say- 
ing what  are  the  facts;  I  am  only  trying  to  ac- 
count for  his  interest." 

"Miss  Ri  thought  he  might  be  interested  because 
his  claim  may  perhaps  touch  our  property  some- 
where, and  that  there  may  be  some  question  of  the 
dividing  line." 

"That  could  very  well  be.  At  all  events,  I  don't 
believe  it  was  idle  curiosity.  I'll  sound  him  a  little 


94  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

if  I  can,  but  he  is  a  reticent  sort  of  fellow,  and  as 
dumb  as  an  oyster  about  that  matter,  though  there 
is  really  no  use  in  his  talking  till  he  gets  his  papers, 
which,  poor  fellow,  it's  mighty  unlikely  he'll  ever 
find." 

"I'd  hate  a  prying  neighbor,"  remarked  Linda. 

"You're  not  liable  to  have  one  from  present  in- 
dications. If  I  had  time  I'd  really  like  to  look  into 
some  of  the  old  titles,  and  see  just  how  the  property 
in  the  vicinity  of  Talbot's  Angles  has  come  down 
to  the  present  owners.  I  know  about  a  good  many, 
as  it  is.  Your  brother  sold  off  Talbot's  Addition, 
didn't  he?" 

"Yes.  You  know  my  father  had  mortgaged  it 
up  to  the  hilt,  and  then  Mart  sold  it  in  order  to 
get  rid  of  the  interest  and  to  have  something  to 
put  into  the  home  place.  He  thought  he  would 
rather  hold  one  unencumbered  place  and  have  some 
money  to  improve  it  than  to  struggle  along  with 
two  places." 

"Good  judgment,  too.  If  I  am  not  mistaken 
there  was  still  more  property  belonging  to  the 
Talbot  family  originally.  Wasn't  Timber  Neck 
theirs  at  one  time?" 

"I  believe  so,  though  it  was  so  long  ago  that  I 
don't  remember  hearing  much  about  it." 

"I  see.  Well,  here  we  are,  and  I  think  there  must 
be  crab  cakes  from  the  odor." 

"So  there  are;  I  remember  now.     I  knew  Miss 


WAS  IT  CURIOSITY?  95 

Ri  was  fond  of  them  and  no  one  can  make  them  as 
well  as  Phebe." 

The  supper  set  forth  on  the  big  round  table  dis- 
played the  crab  cakes,  brown  and  toothsome,  the 
inevitable  beaten  biscuits  on  one  side,  and  what 
Phebe  called  "a  pone  of  bread"  on  the  other.  There 
were,  too,  some  thin  slices  of  cold  ham,  fried  po- 
tatoes and  a  salad,  while  the  side  table  held  some 
delectable  cakes,  and  a  creamy  dessert  in  the  prep- 
aration of  which  Phebe  was  famous.  No  one  had 
ever  been  able  to  get  her  exact  recipe,  for  "A  little 
pinch"  of  this,  "a  sprinkling"  of  that,  and  "what  I 
thinks  is  right"  of  the  other  was  too  indefinite  for 
most  housekeepers.  Many  had,  indeed,  ventured 
after  hearing  the  ingredients  but  all  had  failed. 

"This  is  a  supper  fit  for  a  king,"  said  Berkley, 
sitting  down  after  a  satisfied  survey  of  the  table. 

"You  might  have  just  such  every  day,"  returned 
Miss  Ri. 

"Please  to  tell  me  how.  Do  you  mean  I  could 
induce  Phebe  to  accept  the  place  of  head  cook  at  the 
hotel?" 

"Heaven  forbid.     No,  bat,  of  course  not." 

"Why  bat?" 

"You  are  so  blind,  just  like  most  conceited  young 
men  who  might  have  homes  of  their  own  if  they 
chose." 

"Please,  Miss  Ri,  don't  be  severe.  You  haven't 
the  right  idea  at  all.  Don't  you  know  it  is  my  lack 


96  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

of  conceit  which  prevents  my  harboring  the  belief 
that  I  could  induce  anyone  to  help  me  to  make  a 
home?" 

"I  don't  know  anything  of  the  kind.  I  know  it 
is  your  selfish  love  of  ease  and  your  desire  to  shirk 
responsibility." 

"Listen  to  her,  Linda.  She  will  drive  me  to  ask- 
ing the  first  girl  I  meet  if  she  will  marry  me.  You 
might  do  it,  by  the  way,  and  then  we  might  take 
our  revenge  by  luring  Phebe  away  from  her.  Of 
course,  Phebe  would  follow  you.  I  wonder  I  never 
thought  of  that  before." 

"You  are  a  flippant,  senseless  trifler,"  cried  Miss 
Ri  with  more  heat  than  would  appear  necessary. 
"I  won't  have  you  talking  so  of  serious  sub- 
jects." 

"So  it  is  a  serious  subject  to  your  mind?"  Berkley 
laughed  gleefully. 

But  Miss  Ri  maintained  a  dignified  silence  dur- 
ing which  Berkley  made  little  asides  to  Linda  till 
finally  Miss  Ri  said  placidly,  "I  told  Linda  not  long 
ago  that  I  never  got  mad  with  fools,  and,"  she 
added  with  a  gleam  of  fun  in  her  eyes,  "I'm  not 
going  to  begin  to  do  it  now." 

"You  have  the  best  of  me  as  usual,  Miss  Ri," 
laughed  Berkley,  "although  I  might  get  back  at  you, 
if  one  good  turn  deserves  another.  By  the  way, 
Linda,  did  you  ever  hear  the  way  old  Aaron  Hopkins 
interprets  that?" 


WAS  IT  CURIOSITY?  97 

"No,  I  believe  not." 

"Someone  sent  him  a  barrel  of  apples  last  year, 
and  he  told  me  the  other  day  that  he  expected  the 
same  person  would  send  another  this  year.  'He 
sent  'em  last  year,'  said  the  old  fellow,  'and  you 
know  'one  good  turn  deserves  another.'  He  is  a 
rare  old  bird,  is  Aaron." 

"He  certainly  is,"  returned  Linda.  "I  think  it 
is  too  funny  that  he  named  his  boat  the  Mary  haha. 
!He  told  me  he  thought  that  Minnehaha  was  a  nice 
name  for  young  folks  to  use,  'but  for  an  old  fellow 
like  me  it  ain't  dignified/  he  said." 

"Tell  Berk  what  he  said  to  your  brother  when  he 
came  back  from  college,"  urged  Miss  Ri. 

"Oh,  yes,  that  was  funny,  too.  You  know  Mart 
had  been  away  for  three  years,  and  he  met  old 
Aaron  down  by  the  creek  one  day.  I  doubt  if 
Aaron  has  ever  been  further  than  Sandbridge  in 
his  life.  He  greeted  Mart  like  one  long  lost. 
'Well,  well,'  he  said,  'so  you've  got  back.  Been 
away  a  right  smart  of  a  time,  haven't  you?' 
'Three  years,'  Mart  told  him.  'Where  ye  been?' 
'To  New  Jersey.'  That's  right  fur,  ain't  it?' 
'Some  distance.'  'Beyand  Pennsylvany,  I  reckon. 
Well,  well,  how  on  airth  could  you  stand  it?' 
'Why,  it's  a  pretty  good  place,  why  shouldn't  I 
stand  it,  Aaron?'  said  Mart.  'But  it's  so  durned 
fur  from  the  creek,'  replied  Aaron." 

"Pretty  good,"  cried  Berkley.      "A  true  Eastern 


98  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

shoreman  is  Aaron,  wants  nothing  better  than  his 
boat  and  the  creek.  Good  for  him." 

They  lingered  at  table  talking  of  this  and  that  till 
presently  there  came  a  ring  at  the  door.  Phebe 
lumbered  out  to  open.  She  was  unsurpassed  as  a 
cook,  but  only  her  extreme  politeness  excused  the 
awkwardness  of  her  manner  as  waitress.  "It's  dat 
Mr.  Jeffs,"  she  said  in  a  stage  whisper  when  she  re- 
turned. "He  ask  fo'  de  ladies." 

"Then  you  will  have  to  come,  Linda,"  said  Miss 
Ri,  "and  you,  too,  Berk." 

"Of  course,  I'll  come,"  replied  the  young  man. 

"You  don't  imagine  I  am  going  to  stay  here  by 
myself  while  you  two  make  eyes  at  an  interloper." 
And  he  followed  the  two  to  the  drawing-room  into 
which  Phebe  had  ushered  the  visitor. 

The  young  man  sitting  there  arose  and  came  for- 
ward, and  after  shaking  hands  with  Miss  Ri  he 
said,  "I  believe  you  have  not  formally  presented  me 
to  your  niece,  Miss  Hill,  though  I  was  so  uncere- 
monious as  to  talk  to  her  over  the  fence  this  even- 
ing." 

"You  mean  Linda.  She  is  not  my  niece ;  I  wish 
she  were.  How  would  it  do  for  me  to  adopt  you  as 
one,  Verlinda?  I'd  love  to  have  you  call  me  Aunt 
Ri." 

"Then  I'll  do  it,"  returned  the  girl  with  enthu- 
siasm. 

"Then,  Mr.  Jeffreys,  allow  me  to  present  you  to 


WAS  IT  CURIOSITY?  99 

my  adopted  niece,  Miss  Verlinda  Talbot,  and  be- 
ware how  you  talk  to  her  over  the  fence.  I  am 
a  very  fierce  duenna." 

The  young  man  smiled  a  little  deprecatingly,  not 
quite  understanding  whether  this  was  meant 
seriously  or  not,  and  wondering  if  he  were  being 
censured  for  his  lack  of  ceremony. 

"I  presented  Mr.  Jeffreys  quite  properly  myself," 
spoke  up  Berkley.  "To  be  sure,  it  was  in  the  dark 
and  he  wasn't  within  gun-shot.  I  haven't  recov- 
ered from  my  scare  yet,  have  you,  Jeffreys?  Next 
time  you  go  to  town,  Miss  Ri,  I  am  going  with 
you,  for  I  don't  mean  to  be  left  behind  to  the  tender 
mercies  of  anyone  as  bloodthirsty  as  Linda." 

They  all  laughed,  and  the  visitor  looked  at  the 
two  young  people  interestedly.  Evidently  they 
were  on  excellent  terms.  He  wondered  if  by  any 
chance  an  engagement  existed  between  them,  but 
when  later  Bertie  Bryan  came  in,  and  he  saw  that 
Berk  treated  her  with  the  same  air  of  good  com- 
radeship, he  concluded  that  it  was  simply  the  in- 
formality of  old  acquaintance,  though  he  wondered 
a  little  at  it.  In  his  part  of  the  country  not  even 
the  excuse  of  lifelong  association  could  set  a  young 
man  so  at  his  ease  with  one  of  the  opposite  sex,  and 
he  was  quite  sure  that  he  could  not  play  openly  at 
making  love  to  two  girls  at  once.  However,  they 
spent  a  merry  time,  Linda,  under  the  genial  influ- 
ence of  her  friends,  was  livelier  than  usual,  and 


ioo  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

however  much  she  may  have  resented  Mr.  Jeffreys' 
inquisitiveness  earlier  in  the  day,  on  further  ac- 
quaintance she  lost  sight  of  anything  but  his  charm 
of  manner  and  his  art  of  making  himself  agreeable. 

After  the  young  men  had  seen  Bertie  to  her 
home,  they  walked  down  the  shadowy  street 
together.  "Haven't  heard  anything  of  those  pa- 
pers yet,  I  suppose,"  Berkley  said  to  his  companion. 

"Nothing  at  all." 

"Too  bad.     Are  you  going  to  give  it  up?" 

"Not  quite  yet.  I  thought  I'd  allow  myself  six 
months.  I  have  a  bit  of  an  income  which  comes 
in  regularly,  and  one  doesn't  have  to  spend  much  in 
a  place  like  this.  Once  my  papers  are  found,  I 
think  my  chances  are  good."  Then  abruptly, 
"You've  known  Miss  Talbot  a  long  time,  I  suppose, 
Matthews." 

"Nearly  all  my  life.  At  least  we  were  youngsters 
together;  but  I  was  at  college  for  some  years,  and 
I  didn't  see  her  between  whiles.  She  was  grown 
up  when  I  came  back." 

"Then  you  probably  know  all  about  her  home, 
Talbot's  Angles,  do  they  call  it?" 

"Yes,  certainly.  Everyone  about  here  knows  it, 
for  it  is  one  of  the  few  places  that  has  remained  in 
the  family  since  its  first  occupation."  Then  sud- 
denly, "Good  heavens,  man,  you  don't  mean  that's 
the  place  you  are  thinking  to  claim?  I  can  tell 
you  it's  not  worth  your  while.  The  Talbots  have 


WAS  IT  CURIOSITY?  101 

the  original  land  grant  and  always  have  had  it, 
and — why,  it's  an  impossibility." 

His  companion  was  silent  for  a  moment.  "You 
know,  I  am  not  talking  yet.  If  I  find  the  papers 
are  lost  irrevocably,  I  shall  go  away  with  only  a 
very  pleasant  memory  of  the  kindness  and  hospital- 
ity of  Sandbridge." 

Berkley  in  turn  was  silenced,  but  after  parting 
from  his  companion  at  Miss  Parthy's  door,  he  went 
down  the  street  saying  to  himself,  "I'll  search  that 
title  the  very  first  chance  I  get.  I  am  as  sure  as 
anyone  could  be  that  it  is  all  right.  Let  me  see, 
Miss  Ri  would  know  about  the  forbears;  I'll  ask 
her."  He  stopped  under  a  street  lamp  and  looked 
at  his  watch.  "It  isn't  so  very  late,  and  she  is  a 
regular  owl.  I'll  try  it." 

Instead  of  continuing  his  way  to  the  hotel,  he 
turned  the  corner  which  led  to  Miss  Ri's  home. 
Stopping  at  the  gate,  he  peered  in.  Yes,  there  was 
a  light  in  the  sitting-room,  and  from  some  unseen 
window  above  was  reflected  a  beam  upon  the  sur- 
face of  the  gently-flowing  river.  "She  is  up  and 
Linda  has  gone  to  her  room,"  he  told  himself. 
"Just  as  I  thought." 

He  stepped  quickly  inside  the  ground  and  went 
toward  the  house.  One  window  of  the  sitting- 
room  was  partly  open,  for  the  night  was  mild.  He 
could  see  Miss  Ri  sitting  by  her  lamp,  a  book  in  her 
hand.  "Miss  Ri,"  he  called  softly. 


102  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

She  came  to  the  window.  "Of  all  prowling  tom- 
cats," she  began.  "What  are  you  back  here  for?" 

"I  forgot  something.     May  I  come  in?" 

"Linda  has  gone  to  bed." 

"I  didn't  come  to  see  Linda." 

"Oh,  you  didn't.  Well,  I'll  let  you  in,  but  you 
ought  to  know  better  than  to  come  sneaking  around 
a  body's  garden  at  this  time  of  night." 

"You  see,  I've  gotten  into  the  habit  of  it,"  Berk- 
ley told  her.  "I've  done  it  for  two  nights  running 
and  I  can't  sleep  till  I've  made  the  rounds." 

"Silly!"  exclaimed  Miss  Ri.  But  she  came 
around  to  open  the  door  for  him.  "Now,  what  is 
it  you  want?"  she  asked.  "I've  no  midnight  sup- 
pers secreted  anywhere." 

"Is  thy  servant  a  dog,  that  he  comes  merely  to 
be  fed?" 

"I've  had  my  suspicions  at  times,"  returned  Miss 
Ri.  "Come  in,  but  don't  talk  loud,  so  as  to  waken 
Linda;  the  child  needs  all  the  sleep  she  can  get. 
Now,  go  on;  tell  me  what  you  want." 

"I  want  you  to  tell  me  exactly  who  Linda's  for- 
bears were ;  that  is,  on  the  Talbot  side.  Her  father 
was  James,  I  know." 

"Yes,  and  his  father  was  Martin.  He  had  a 
brother,  but  he  died  early;  there  were  only  the  two 
sons,  but  there  was  a  daughter,  I  believe." 

"And  their  father  was?" 

"Let  me  see — Monroe?     No,  Madison;  that's  it, 


WAS  IT  CURIOSITY?  103 

Madison  Talbot,  and  his  father  was  James  again. 
I  can't  give  you  the  collaterals  so  far  back." 

"Humph!     Well,  I  reckon  that  will  do." 

"What  in  the  world  are  you  up  to?  Are  you 
making  a  family  tree  for  Linda  ?" 

"No;  but  I  have  some  curiosity  upon  the  subject 
of  old  titles,  and  as  it  may  come  in  my  way,  I 
thought  I  would  look  up  Talbot's  Angles." 

"There's  no  use  in  doing  that.  Linda  has  the 
original  land  grant  in  her  possession.  Poor  child, 
she  clings  to  that,  and  I  am  glad  she  can.  I  wish 
to  goodness  you'd  marry  Grace,  Berk  Matthews, 
so  Verlinda  could  get  her  rights." 

"I'd  do  a  good  deal  for  a  pretty  girl,  but  I  couldn't 
bring  myself  up  to  the  scratch  of  marrying  Grace 
Talbot.  Now,  if  it  were  Linda  herself,  that  might 
be  a  different  matter." 

"You'd  get  a  treasure,"  avowed  Miss  Ri,  shak- 
ing her  head  wisely.  "She  doesn't  have  to  air  her 
family  silver  in  order  to  make  people  forget  her  mis- 
takes in  English." 

"True,  O  wisest  of  women." 

"There's  another  way  out  of  it,  Berk;  the  place 
reverts  to  Verlinda  in  the  event  of  Grace's  death." 

"Do  you  mean  I  shall  poison  her  or  use  a  dag- 
ger, Lady  Macbeth?" 

"You  great  goose,  of  course  I  don't  mean  either 
such  horrible  thing.  I  was  only  letting  my 
thoughts  run  on  the  possibilities  of  the  case.  I'm 


104  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

not  quite  so  degenerate  as  to  wish  for  anyone's 
death,  but  I  haven't  found  out  yet  why  you  were 
looking  into  the  family  procession  of  names." 

"Oh,  just  a  mere  matter  of  legal  curiosity,  as  I 
said.  I  come  across  them  once  in  a  while,  and 
I  wanted  to  get  them  straight  in  my  mind.  James, 
son  of  Martin,  son  of  Madison,  son  of  James ;  that's 
it,  isn't  it  ?"  He  checked  them  off  on  his  fingers. 

"That's  it." 

"Well,  good-night,  Miss  Ri.  I  won't  keep  you 
any  longer  from  that  fascinating  book  at  which 
you've  been  casting  stealthy  glances  ever  since  I 
came  in.  Don't  get  up;  I  can  let  myself  out." 

Miss  Ri  did  not  immediately  return  to  the  book. 
"Now,  what  is  he  driving  at?"  she  said  to  herself. 
"It's  all  poppycock  about  his  interest  in  the  names 
because  he  wants  to  get  them  straight  in  his  mind. 
He's  not  so  interested  in  Verlinda  as  all  that,  worse 
luck.  I  wish  he  were."  She  gave  a  little  sigh  and, 
adjusting  her  glasses,  returned  to  the  page  before 
her. 


CHAPTER   VIII 

A  DISCLOSURE 

"The  old  horse  is  neighing  again,"  said  Miss  Ri, 
whimsically,  one  morning  a  little  later.  "I  must  go 
to  town,  Verlinda." 

The  girl  looked  up  from  some  papers  over  which 
she  was  working.  The  two  were  sitting  at  the  big 
table  before  an  open  fire,  for  it  had  suddenly  turned 
colder.  The  room  was  very  cosey,  with  warm 
touches  of  color  found  in  the  table-cover  of  red,  in 
the  yellow  chrysanthemums  by  the  window,  and 
in  the  deep  tones  of  the  furniture.  Linda  looked 
frailer  and  thinner  than  when  her  life  at  the  farm 
admitted  of  more  open-air  employment  and  less  in- 
door. She  did  her  work  conscientiously,  even 
thankfully,  but  hardly  lovingly,  and  in  consequence 
it  was  a  constant  strain  upon  her  vitality.  "What 
were  you  saying,  Aunt  Ri  ?"  she  asked,  her  thoughts 
vaguely  lingering  with  her  work,  while  yet  she  was 
conscious  of  Miss  Ri's  remark. 

"I  said  the  old  horse  was  neighing  again.  There 
is  another  sale  this  week,  a  different  express  com- 
pany this  time,  and  I  feel  the  call  of  the  unknown. 
I  think  I'll  go  up  by  train,  and  then  you  will  be 

105 


io6  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

alone  but  one  night.  Bertie  enjoyed  herself  so 
much  last  time,  that  I  am  sure  she  will  like  to  come 
again,  if  you  want  her.  Bertie  is  a  nice  child,  not 
an  overstock  of  brains  in  some  directions,  but  plenty 
of  hard  sense  in  others." 

"Do  you  suppose  it  will  be  cough  medicine  this 
time?"  asked  Linda,  making  little  spirals  on  the 
edge  of  her  paper  with  her  pencil. 

"Heaven  forfend!  No,  I'm  going  to  bid  on 
the  biggest  thing  there,  if  it  be  a  hogshead.  I  saw 
one  man  get  a  stuffed  double-headed  calf,  and  an- 
other the  parts  of  some  machine  whose  other  be- 
longing had  evidently  gone  elsewhere.  I  shall  try 
to  avoid  such  things.  I  wish  you  could  go  with 
me,  Verlinda ;  it  is  such  fun."  Miss  Ri's  eyes  twin- 
kled, as  her  hands  busied  themselves  with  some 
knitting  she  had  taken  up. 

"I'd  like  to  go,"  admitted  Linda  wistfully,  "but 
it  isn't  a  holiday,  and  I  mustn't  play  truant.  Good 
luck  to  you,  Aunt  Ri."  She  returned  to  her  work, 
while  Miss  Ri  knitted  on  for  a  while. 

"Shall  you  be  working  long?"  asked  the  latter 
presently.  "I  must  make  such  an  early  start,  that 
I  think  I'll  go  up,  if  you  will  put  out  the  lights  and 
see  to  the  fire." 

"I  have  considerably  more  to  do,"  Linda  an- 
swered, turning  over  her  papers.  "I'll  put  out  the 
lights,  Aunt  Ri." 

"Don't  sit  up  too  late,"  charged  the  other,  stuf- 


A  DISCLOSURE  107 

fing  her  knitting  into  a  gay,  flowery  bag.  "Good- 
night, child.  I'll  be  off  before  you  are  up.  Just 
order  anything  you  like,  and  don't  bother  about  any- 
thing." She  dropped  a  kiss  upon  the  shining  dark 
hair,  and  went  her  way,  stopping  to  try  the  front 
door. 

For  half  an  hour  Linda  worked  steadily,  then  she 
stacked  her  papers  with  a  sigh,  arose  and  drew  a 
chair  before  the  fire,  whose  charred  logs  were  burn- 
ing dully.  She  gave  a  poke  to  the  smouldering 
ends,  which  sent  up  a  spurt  of  sparks  and  caused 
the  flame  to  burn  brightly.  With  chin  in  hands, 
the  girl  sat  for  some  time  gazing  into  the  fire  which, 
after  this  final  effort,  was  fast  reducing  itself  to 
gray  ashes  and  red  embers.  The  old  clock  in  the 
hall  struck  eleven  slowly  and  solemnly.  Miss  Ri's 
quick  tread  on  the  floor  above  had  ceased  long 
before.  The  tick-tock  of  the  clock  and  the  crackle 
of  the  consuming  wood  were  the  only  sounds. 
Linda  returned  to  the  table,  picked  up  a  bit  of  paper 
and  began  to  write,  at  first  rapidly,  then  with  pauses 
for  thought,  frequent  re-readings  and  many  era- 
sures. She  occupied  herself  thus  till  the  clock 
again  struck  deliberately  but  insistently.  Linda 
lifted  her  head  and  counted.  "Midnight,"  she  ex- 
claimed, "and  I  am  still  up.  I  wonder  if  it  is  worth 
it."  She  stopped  to  read  once  more  the  page  she 
had  finally  written,  then,  tucking  the  paper  into  her 
blouse,  she  gathered  up  the  rest,  found  a  candle  in 


io8  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

one  of  the  dignified  old  candlesticks,  put  out  the 
lamp  and  tip-toed  to  her  room. 

The  sun  was  shining  brightly  on  the  river  when 
she  awakened  next  morning.  Miss  Ri  had  gone 
long  before.  Linda  had  been  dimly  conscious  of 
her  stirring  about,  but  had  slept  on,  realizing 
vaguely  that  it  was  early.  Her  first  movement  was 
to  sit  up  in  bed,  abstract  a  paper  from  under  her 
pillow,  and  read  it  over.  "I  wondered  how  it  would 
sound  by  daylight,"  she  said  to  herself.  "I  think  it 
isn't  so  bad,  and  it  was  such  a  joy  to  do  it  after 
those  stupid  papers.  I  wonder,  I  wonder  if  it  is 
worth  while."  She  tucked  the  paper  away  in  her 
desk,  feeling  more  blithe  and  content  than  for  many 
a  day.  How  blue  the  river  was,  how  picturesque 
the  tall-masted  ships,  how  good  the  tang  of  the 
autumn  air,  laden  with  the  odor  of  leaf-wine.  Even 
the  turkey-buzzards,  sailing  over  the  chimney-tops, 
gave  individuality  to  the  scene.  It  was  a  beautiful 
world,  even  though  she  must  be  shut  up  in  a  school- 
room all  day  with  a  parcel  of  restless  urchins. 

She  went  down-stairs  humming  a  tune,  to  the 
delight  of  Phebe,  who  waited  below.  "Dat  soun' 
lak  ole  times,  honey  chile,"  she  said.  "I  ain't  hyar 
dem  little  hummy  tunes  dis  long  while.  I  always 
use  say  to  mahse'f,  'Dar  come  mah  honey  chile.  I 
knows  her  by  dat  little  song  o'  hers,  same  as  I  knows 
de  bees  by  dere  hummin'  an'  de  robin  by  he  whistle.' 
Come  along,  chile,  fo'  yo'  breakfus  spile."  She 


A  DISCLOSURE  109 

bustled  back  to  the  kitchen,  and  Linda  entered  the 
dining-room,  warm  from  the  fire  in  the  wood  stove 
and  cheery  by  reason  of  the  scarlet  flowers  with 
which  Phebe  had  adorned  the  table.  There  was  an 
odor  of  freshly-baked  bread,  of  bacon,  of  coffee. 

"I  believe  I'm  hungry,"  said  Linda. 

Phebe's  face  beamed.  "Dat  soun'  lak  sumpin," 
she  declared.  "Jes'  wait  till  I  fetches  in  dem  hot 
rolls.  Dey  pipin'  hot  right  out  o'  de  oben.  I  say 
hongry,"  she  murmured  to  herself,  as  she  went 
clumsily  on  her  errand. 

The  day  went  well  enough.  On  her  way  home 
from  school,  Linda  stopped  to  ask  Bertie  to  spend 
the  night  with  her.  But  Bertie  was  off  to  a  birth- 
day dance  in  the  country,  which  meant  she  would 
not  be  back  till  the  next  morning.  She  was  "so 
sorry."  If  she  had  "only  known,"  and  all  that. 
"But,  of  course,  you  can  get  someone  else,"  she 
concluded  by  saying. 

"Oh,  I  don't  mind  staying  alone,  if  it  comes  to 
that,"  Linda  told  her. 

"You  stay  too  much  alone,  Linda." 

"And  I,  who  am  surrounded  all  day  by  such  a 
regiment  of  boys." 

"Oh,  they  don't  count ;  I  mean  girls  of  your  own 
age.  How  are  you  getting  along,  Linda,  by  the 
way?" 

"Oh,  well  enough,"  responded  Linda  doubtfully. 
"The  more  successful  I  am,  the  more  it  takes  it  out 


no  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

of  me,  however,  and  I  am  afraid  I  shall  really  never 
love  teaching.  Even  though  you  may  succeed  in 
an  undertaking,  if  you  don't  really  love  it,  you  tire 
more  easily  than  if  you  did  something  much  harder, 
but  which  you  really  loved." 

"I  suppose  that  may  be  true.  Well,  Linda,  I 
hope  you  will  not  always  be  a  teacher." 

"I  hope  not,"  responded  Linda  frankly. 

"I  wish  you  would  come  over  oftener,  and  would 
go  around  more  with  the  girls.  They  would  all 
love  to  have  you." 

Linda  shook  her  head  gravely.  "That  is  very 
nice  for  you  to  say,  but  I  couldn't  do  it — yet." 

"Well,  be  sure  you  don't  stay  by  yourself  to- 
night," Bertie  charged  her. 

Linda  promised,  and  started  off  to  fulfil  the  inten- 
tion. Miss  Parthy,  from  her  porch,  called  to  her 
as  she  went  by.  "When's  Ri  coming  back?"  she 
asked,  over  the  heads  of  her  three  dogs,  who  occu- 
pied the  porch  with  her. 

"Not  till  to-morrow  morning." 

"You'd  better  come  over  here  and  sleep,"  Miss 
Parthy  advised  her.  "I  have  an  extra  room,  you 
know." 

"And  leave  dear  old  Mammy  to  her  lonesome? 
No,  I  think  I'd  better  not,  Miss  Parthy ;  thank  you. 
I'll  get  someone  to  stay." 

"You  can  have  one  of  the  dogs,"  offered  Miss 


A  DISCLOSURE  in 

Parthy  quite  seriously.  "They  are  better  than  any 
watchman." 

Linda  thanked  her,  but  the  thought  of  Brownie's 
tail  thumping  on  the  floor  outside  her  door,  or  of 
Pickett's  sharp  bark,  or  Flora's  plaintive  whine,  de- 
cided her.  "I  think  I'd  rather  have  a  human  girl, 
thank  you,  Miss  Parthy,  and  even  if  I  find  no  one, 
it  will  be  all  right ;  I  have  stayed  with  only  Mammy 
in  the  house  dozens  of  times." 

She  continued  her  way,  stopping  at  the  house  of 
this  or  that  friend,  but  all  were  bound  for  the  birth- 
day party,  and  after  two  or  three  attempts  she  gave 
it  up.  Rather  than  put  any  more  of  the  good- 
hearted  girls  to  the  pain  of  refusing,  she  would  stay 
alone.  More  than  one  had  offered  to  give  up  the 
dance,  and  this  she  could  not  allow  another  to  pro- 
pose. After  all,  it  would  not  be  bad,  though 
Mammy  should  drop  to  sleep  early,  for  there  would 
be  the  cheerful  fire  and  another  bit  of  paper  to  cover 
with  the  lines  which  had  been  haunting  her  all  day. 
She  turned  toward  home  again,  with  thoughtful 
tread,  traversing  the  long  street  between  rows  of 
flaming  maples  or  golden  gum  trees,  whose  offer- 
ings of  scarlet  and  yellow  fluttered  to  her  feet  at 
every  step.  There  was  the  first  hint  of  winter  in 
the  air,  but  the  grass  was  green  in  the  gardens  and 
in  the  still  unfrosted  vines  birds  chattered  and 
scolded,  disputing  right  of  way. 


H2  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

At  the  corner  she  met  Mr.  Jeffreys,  who  joined 
her.  "Bound  for  a  walk?"  he  asked.  "May  I  go 
with  you  ?" 

As  a  girl  will,  who  does  not  despise  the  society 
of  a  companionable  man,  she  tacitly  accepted  his 
escort,  and  they  went  on  down  the  street  toward 
the  river,  where  the  red  and  yellow  of  trees  ap- 
peared to  have  drifted  to  the  sky,  to  be  reflected 
in  the  waters  below. 

"Miss  Talbot,"  said  the  young  man,  when  they 
had  wandered  to  where  houses  were  few  and  scat- 
tered, "I  have  a  confession  to  make." 

Linda  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  He  was  rather 
a  reticent  person,  though  courteous  and  not  alto- 
gether diffident.  "To  me?"  she  exclaimed. 

"To  you  first,  because — well,  I  will  tell  you  that 
I,  too,  can  claim  kinship  with  the  Talbot  family. 
My  great-grandfather  and  yours  were  brothers. 
Did  you  ever  hear  of  Lovina  Talbot  ?" 

"Why,  yes.  Let  me  see;  what  have  I  heard? 
It  will  come  back  to  me  after  a  while.  That  branch 
of  the  Talbots  left  here  years  ago." 

"Yes,  just  after  the  War  of  1812.  My  great- 
grandfather, Cyrus,  went  to  Western  Pennsylvania. 
His  only  daughter,  Lovina,  was  my  grandmother. 
She  married  against  his  wishes,  and  then  he  married 
a  second  time — a  Scotch-Irish  girl  of  his  neighbor- 
hood— and  the  families  seem  to  have  known  little 
of  one  another  after  that.  My  father,  Charles 


A  DISCLOSURE  113 

Jeffreys,  was  Lovina's  son.  He  settled  in  Hartford, 
Connecticut.  And  now  you  have  my  pedigree." 

"Why,  then  we  are  really  blood  relations.  No 
wonder  you  were  interested  in  the  old  Talbot  place. 
Why — "  she  paused,  hesitated,  flushed  up — "then 
it  must  be  some  of  the  Talbot  property  you  are  look- 
ing up." 

"That  is  it ;  but  I  don't  exactly  know  which  it  is, 
and  without  proof  I  can  make  no  claim,  as  I  have 
often  said." 

Linda  ran  over  in  her  mind  the  various  pieces 
of  property  which  she  was  aware  of  having  be- 
longed to  the  original  grants.  "There  was  a  good 
deal  of  it,"  she  said.  "Some  of  it  was  sold  before 
my  father's  time,  and  he  parted  with  more,  so  now 
all  we  have  is  the  old  homestead  farm.  I  should 
like  to  know,"  she  continued  musingly,  "which  place 
you  think  it  really  is.  I  suppose  it  must  be  Timber 
Neck,  for  that  was  the  first  which  passed  out  of 
our  hands." 

"I  cannot  tell,  for  I  don't  know  exactly." 

"Why  didn't  you  make  yourself  known  before? 
Didn't  you  know  it  would  have  made  a  difference  to 
me — to  us  all,  if  you  belonged,  even  remotely,  to 
one  of  the  old  families?" 

"Yes,  I  did,  I  suppose;  but  for  that  very  reason 
1  was  slow  to  confess  it.  I  came  here  under  rather 
awkward  circumstances.  For  a  time  I  was  in  a 
position  to  be  looked  upon  with  suspicion,  to  be 


ii4  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

considered  a  mere  adventurer.  I  may  be  yet,"  he 
continued,  with  a  smile  and  a  side  glance  at  the  girl, 
"even  if  I  do  pay  my  board  bills  and  my  laun- 
dress." 

"Oh,  we  don't  think  that  of  you;  we  are  quite 
sure  you  are  genuine,"  Linda  hastened  to  assure 
him. 

"You  have  only  my  word.  You  don't  know  who 
my  father  was." 

"You  just  told  me  he  was  Charles  Jeffreys." 

"Yes,  but — "  He  did  not  finish  the  sentence. 
"I  thought  it  was  due  you  to  know  something  of 
myself  and  my  errand." 

"I  am  glad  to  know  it." 

"Thank  you.  That  is  very  good  of  you.  Do 
you  mind  if  I  ask  that  you  do  not  repeat  what  I 
have  been  telling  you?" 

"Not  even  to  Miss  Ri?" 

Mr.  Jeffreys  considered  the  question.  "I  think 
Miss  Hill  should  certainly  know,  for  she  was  my 
first  friend;  and  Mr.  Matthews,  too,  perhaps.  I 
will  tell  them  and  ask  them  to  respect  my  secret  for 
the  present.  When  I  can  come  among  you  as  one 
who  has  a  right  to  claim  ancestry  with  one  of  your 
Eastern  Shore  families,  that  will  be  a  different 
thing." 

Linda  would  like  to  have  asked  for  more  of  his 
personal  history  and,  as  if  reading  her  thought,  he 
went  on :  "I  have  not  had  a  wildly-adventurous  life ; 


"  BUT  YOU  MUST  NOT  CALL  ME  COUSIN,      SAID  LINDA. 


A  DISCLOSURE  115 

it  has  been  respectably  commonplace.  I  had  a  fair 
education,  partly  in  Europe;  but  I  am  not  college- 
bred.  My  father  was  a  gentleman,  but  not  over- 
successful  in  business.  He  left  only  a  life  insurance 
for  my  mother,  enough  for  her  needs,  if  used  with 
care.  My  mother  died  two  years  ago,  and  I  have 
neither  brother  nor  sister." 

Linda's  sympathy  went  out.  "Neither  have  I 
brother  nor  sister,"  she  returned  softly.  "I  can  un- 
derstand just  how  lonely  you  must  be.  But  you 
know  you  have  discovered  a  cousin,  and  you  may 
consider  it  a  real  relationship." 

The  young  man  cast  her  a  grateful  look.  "That 
makes  me  feel  much  less  of  an  alien.  I  am  afraid 
an  outsider  would  not  meet  with  such  graciousness 
up  our  way." 

"But  you  must  not  call  me  cousin,"  said  Linda, 
uor  we  shall  have  your  secret  public  property,  and 
that  will  never  do."  Her  sweet  eyes  were  very  ten- 
derly bright,  and  the  gentle  curve  of  her  lips  sug- 
gested a  smile. 

"She  is  much  prettier  than  I  thought,"  the  young 
man  told  himself.  "She  has  always  looked  so  pale 
and  unresponsive,  I  thought  she  lacked  animation; 
but  when  one  sees — I  beg  your  pardon,"  he  was 
roused  by  Linda's  speaking.  "Oh,  yes ;  it  is  getting 
on  to  supper  time,  I  am  afraid.  Perhaps  we'd  bet- 
ter turn  back." 

They  returned  by  the  river  walk,  parting  at  Miss 


n6  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

Ri's  gate.  "Good-night,  cousin,"  said  Linda,  "and 
good  luck  to  you." 

The  walk  had  stirred  her  blood,  the  talk  had 
roused  a  new  and  romantic  interest  in  her  com- 
panion, and  the  same  song  which  Phebe  had  heard 
in  the  morning  was  on  her  lips  as  she  entered  the 
house. 

Phebe  was  on  the  watch  for  her.  "Ain't  nobody 
comin'  to  eat  suppah  with  yuh  ?"  she  inquired. 

"No;  the  girls  are  all  off  to  a  dance  in  the  coun- 
try. I  don't  need  anyone,  Mammy.  You  and  I 
have  been  alone  many  a  time  before  this,  and  it  will 
seem  like  old  times." 

Mammy  looked  at  her  critically.  "Yuh  sholy  is 
beginnin'  to  git  some  roses  in  yo'  cheeks,"  she  said. 
"Whar  yuh  been?" 

"Just  around  town  a  little,  and  then  I  took  a  walk 
by  the  river." 

"By  yose'f  ?     Who  dat  come  to  de  gate  wi'  yuh?" 

"You  prying  old  Mammy.  I  believe  you  could 
see  even  around  the  corner.  That  was  Mr.  Jef- 
freys." 

"Dat  bo'ds  wi'  Miss  Parthy  an'  feeds  de  chick- 
ens?" 

"That  is  the  one." 

"Humph !"  Mammy's  tones  expressed  contempt. 
Who  was  he  to  be  gallanting  her  young  lady  around 
town?  But  she  knew  better  than  to  follow  up  her 


A  DISCLOSURE  117 

expressive  ejaculation  with  any  spoken  comment, 
and  went  in  without  another  word. 

It  was  a  quiet,  cosey  evening  that  Linda  spent. 
It  being  Friday,  there  were  no  lessons  to  be  consid- 
ered for  the  morrow,  and  so  she  smiled  over  her 
own  scribbling  or  smiled  into  the  fire  when  pleasant 
thoughts  possessed  her.  At  the  end  of  the  even- 
ing, there  was  a  carefully-copied  contribution, 
which  was  ready  to  go  to  a  weekly  paper;  but  so 
precious  was  it,  that  it  must  not  be  trusted  to  remain 
on  the  sitting-room  table,  but  must  be  carried  up- 
stairs until,  with  her  own  hand,  she  could  take  it 
to  the  postoffice. 

As  she  went  to  her  window  to  draw  down  the 
shades,  a  handful  of  pebbles  clicked  against  the 
pane.  She  raised  the  sash  and  looked  out.  "I'm 
making  the  rounds,"  said  a  voice  from  below. 
"Good-night."  And  through  the  dimness  she  saw 
Wyatt  Jeffreys'  tall  figure  tramping  around  the  cor- 
ner of  the  house. 

"That  is  nice  of  him,"  she  said  to  herself.  "Poor 
fellow,  I  hope  he  does  recognize  that  I  don't  mean 
to  be  offish.  I  am  sure  he  is  proving  his  own  cous- 
inly consideration." 


CHAPTER   IX 

THE   LETTERS    ON    THE    TRUNK 

Miss  Ri  arrived  betimes  that  Saturday  morning. 
She  was  in  high  glee  and  declared  she  had  made 
the  luckiest  bid  yet,  for  her  "old  horse"  proved  to 
be  a  box  of  books.  "Not  bad  ones,  either,"  she 
declared,  "and  those  I  have  duplicates  of,  I  can 
give  away  at  Christmas.  The  box  was  certainly 
well  worth  the  two  dollars  I  paid  for  it." 

"New  books,  are  they?"  Linda  inquired. 

"Quite  new,  and  it  looks  as  if  they  had  been 
selected  for  someone's  library.  We'll  have  a  good 
time  looking  them  over  when  they  get  here.  Here's 
something  else  for  your  consideration,  Linda :  Berk 
Matthews  went  with  me.  He  is  the  greatest  one 
to  tease.  I  met  him  on  the  street  and  couldn't  get 
rid  of  him.  I  didn't  want  him  to  go  to  the  sale, 
but  the  more  I  tried  to  shake  him  off,  the  more 
determined  he  was  to  stay  with  me,  and  finally  I 
had  to  let  him  go  along.  Well,  he  became  inter- 
ested, too.  Oh,  I  have  a  joke  on  him.  He  bought 
a  trunk." 

"A  trunk?" 

"Yes,  a  nice  little  compact  trunk,  which  he  says 

118 


THE  LETTERS  ON  THE  TRUNK     119 

will  be  just  the  thing  for  him  to  take  when  he  goes 
off  with  Judge  Baker.  It  has  the  letters  J.  S.  D.  on 
it,  which  Berk  declares  mean  'Judge  Some  Day/  and 
he  doesn't  mean  to  change  them.  He  is  a  non- 
sensical creature/' 

"What  is  in  the  trunk?" 

"Oh,  he  hadn't  opened  it;  for,  of  course,  he  had 
no  key.  He  was  in  a  hurry  to  see  his  mother  and 
sister,  and  didn't  want  to  bother  with  the  trunk 
then.  He  is  going  to  stay  over  till  Sunday.  That 
is  a  good  son,  Verlinda.  I  wish  you  could  see  the 
beautiful  little  desk  he  bought  for  his  mother's 
birthday.  I  went  with  him  to  pick  it  out.  It  is 
on  account  of  the  birthday  that  he  went  up  to  the 
city.  I  am  firmly  convinced  that  he  will  not  marry 
until  he  can  give  his  mother  just  as  much  as  he 
gives  his  wife." 

"That  would  be  expecting  a  little  too  much, 
wouldn't  it?" 

"Not  from  Berk's  present  point  of  view.  Noth- 
ing is  too  good  for  that  mother  of  his,  and  when 
Margaret  was  married,  well,  no  girl  in  town  could 
have  had  a  better  outfit.  I  don't  believe  Berk  has 
had  even  a  new  necktie  since." 

"Then  I'll  crochet  him  one  for  a  Christmas  gift," 
said  Linda  smiling.  "What  color  would  you  sug- 
gest?" 

"A  dull  blue  would  be  becoming  to  his  style  of 
beauty." 


120  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

"Not  much  beauty  there." 

"Not  exactly  beauty,  maybe,  but  Berk  looks  every 
inch  a  man." 

"And  not  any  superfluous  inches,  unless  you 
measure  his  shoulders  and  take  him  in  square  meas- 


ure." 


"Well,  Verlinda,  you  must  admit  he  has  a  fine, 
honest  face." 

"So  has  Brownie,  Miss  Parthy's  setter." 

"That  is  just  like  a  foolish  girl.  I'll  venture  to 
say  you  think  Mr.  Jeffreys  much  better  looking." 

"Far  handsomer.  By  the  way — no,  I'll  not  tell 
you;  I'll  let  him  do  that." 

"You  rouse  my  curiosity.     Tell  me." 

"I  don't  need  to,  for  here  comes  the  young  man 
himself." 

Mr.  Jeffreys  was  seen  coming  up  between  the 
borders  of  box  which  led  from  Miss  Parthy's  back 
fence  to  Miss  Ri's  back  door.  He  skirted  the  chrys- 
anthemum beds,  and  came  around  to  the  front  door, 
Miss  Ri  watching  him  the  while.  "Berk  would 
have  bolted  in  through  the  kitchen,"  she  commented. 
"I  don't  suppose  anything  would  induce  Mr.  Jeffreys 
to  be  seen  coming  in  the  back  door.  I  am  surprised 
that  he  did  as  much  as  to  come  in  through  the  gar- 
den." She  went  to  the  door  to  meet  him. 

Conscious  of  his  lack  of  ceremony,  Mr.  Jeffreys 
began  to  apologize  at  once.  "I  hope  you  will  par- 
don my  taking  the  short  cut,  Miss  Hill ;  but  I  prom- 


THE  LETTERS  ON  THE  TRUNK     121 

ised  Miss  Turner  that  I  would  deliver  this  note  into 
your  hands  before  the  ink  had  time  to  dry." 

"I  should  be  much  less  inclined  to  forgive  you,  if 
you  had  taken  the  long  way  around,"  replied  Miss 
Ri.  "Come  in,  Mr.  Jeffreys,  and  let  us  see  what 
this  weighty  matter  is." 

He  followed  her  into  the  sitting-room,  where 
Linda  was  watering  some  house-plants  lately 
brought  in.  "Here,  Verlinda,  you  entertain  Mr. 
Jeffreys  while  I  answer  this  note,"  said  Miss  Ri. 
"It's  about  a  church  meeting,  and  Parthy  thinks  I 
don't  know,  or  haven't  made  up  my  mind  to  go,  or 
something.  I  shall  have  to  relieve  her  mind." 

Mr.  Jeffreys  drew  near  to  Linda  at  the  window. 
"I  hope  you  slept  without  fear  of  robbers,"  he  said. 

She  looked  up  smiling.  "Oh,  yes.  I  felt  very 
safe  after  your  examination  of  bolts  and  bars." 
She  went  on  with  her  task,  nipping  off  a  dead  leaf 
here,  straightening  a  bent  twig  there.  "They  don't 
look  very  well,  yet,"  she  said.  "It  takes  plants  some 
time  to  become  used  to  a  change  of  habitation." 

"Like  some  people,"  he  returned. 

She  gave  him  an  understanding  nod.  "Yes,  but 
just  as  surely  they  will  thrive  under  proper  treat- 
ment." 

Miss  Ri  left  her  desk  and  came  toward  them, 
"I'm  not  going  to  ask  you  to  deliver  this,  Mr. 
Jeffreys,  for  I  want  to  send  Parthy  a  lemon  pie 
that  Phebe  has  just  baked,  and  I'd  never  trust  a  man 


122  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

to  carry  a  lemon  pie.  Just  sit  down  and  I'll  be 
back  in  a  moment." 

"Are  you  going  to  tell  her?"  asked  Linda,  when 
the  door  had  closed  after  Miss  Ri. 

"Maybe.  It  will  depend.  I  won't  force  the 
information." 

"Get  her  to  tell  you  about  her  trip  to  town;  she 
is  so  funny  about  it." 

"Miss  Hill,  you  are  to  tell  me  about  your  trip  to 
town,"  began  Mr.  Jeffreys  when  Miss  Ri  returned. 

"I  shall  not  do  it,"  she  declared.  "What  do  you 
mean,  Verlinda  Talbot,  by  trying  to  get  me  to  tell 
my  secrets?" 

"Maybe  if  you  do,  Mr.  Jeffreys  will  tell  you  one 
of  his." 

"In  that  case,  we  must  make  a  compact.  Can 
you  keep  a  secret,  Mr.  Jeffreys  ?" 

"I  have  kept  my  own,  so  far." 

"But  another's  is  quite  a  different  matter." 

"I  will  keep  yours,  if  you  will  keep  mine." 

"Then  it  is  a  bargain.  Well,  then,  I  have  a  fad 
for  buying  'old  horse/  You  don't  know  what  'old 
horse'  is?  It's  the  stuff  the  express  companies  col- 
lect in  the  course  of  some  months.  If  persons 
refuse  to  pay  expressage,  if  the  address  is  wrong, 
if  it  has  been  torn  off,  you  see  how  it  would  be, 
they  have  a  sale,  an  auction.  I  enjoy  the  fun  of 
buying  'a  pig  in  a  poke.'  Sometimes  it  turns  out 
a  nice  fat  pig  and  sometimes  it  doesn't." 


THE  LETTERS  ON  THE  TRUNK     123 

"And  this  time?" 

"It  was  a  nice  fat  one.  I  became  the  possessor 
of  a  box  of  really  good  and  desirable  books.  Per- 
haps I  shouldn't  be  so  ready  to  tell,  if  Berk  Mat- 
thews hadn't  been  along;  but  I'm  quite  sure  he  will 
think  it  too  good  a  story  on  me  not  to  tell  it.  But 
I  have  one  on  him,  too.  He  bid  for  a  trunk,  and 
it  was  knocked  down  to  him." 

"A  trunk?  You  know  I  am  interested  in  stray 
trunks.  If  mine  had  been  sent  by  express,  I'd  be 
very  keen  about  it." 

"How  was  yours  sent  ?" 

"A  local  expressman  was  to  take  it  to  the  steamer 
and  I  was  unable  to  identify  him  when  the  trunk 
didn't  turn  up.  I  had  his  claim  check,  but  that  was 
in  the  pocket-book  of  which  I  was  robbed — so  you 
see —  There  was  a  tag  on  the  trunk,  but  that 
might  have  been  torn  off.  Well,  let's  hear  about 
Mr.  Matthew's  trunk.  It's  rather  interesting,  this, 
and  may  give  me  a  clue  to  mine." 

"My  dear  young  man,  I  fear  a  dishonest  driver 
is  what  is  wrong  in  your  direction,  or  your  trunk 
may  have  been  stolen  from  the  wagon,  or  have 
fallen  off.  However,  that  is  an  old  subject,  isn't 
it?  Mr.  Matthews'  is  a  neat  little  steamer  trunk, 
of  rather  an  old  fashion.  Of  course,  he  has  no  key, 
and  had  no  time  to  get  a  locksmith,  so  we  don't 
know  the  contents." 

"Mine  was  a  small  steamer  trunk,  not  of  a  new 


124  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

fashion.  It  had  been  my  mother's ;  but,  being  small 
and  in  good  condition,  I  used  it  for  myself,  old  as 
it  was.  It  had  her  initials  on  it,  for  she  had  it 
before  she  was  married." 

Miss  Ri  leaned  forward  and  asked  earnestly: 
"What  were  they?" 

"J.  S.  D.     Julia  Somers  Darby  was  her  maiden 


name." 


Miss  Ri  looked  at  him  excitedly.  "J-  S.  D.? 
My  dear  man,  those  are  the  very  initials  on  Berk's 
trunk." 

It  was  Mr.  Jeffreys'  turn  to  look  agitated.  "Miss 
Hill,  are  you  sure?  Do  you  think — ?"  he  began. 
"Miss  Hill,  could  it  be  possible  that  it  is  my  trunk? 
Will  you  tell  me  all  the  details?  Where  is  this 
place  that  you  found  it  ?  Perhaps,  though,  I'd  best 
see  Matthews." 

"But  he  has  not  yet  come  back." 

"True;  I  had  forgotten  that." 

"I  can  tell  you  where  the  place  is,"  continued 
Miss  Ri,  "if  it  will  do  any  good,"  and  she  proceeded 
to  describe  the  locality,  Mr.  Jeffreys  listening  in- 
tently. 

"It  is  well  worth  looking  into,"  he  decided.  "I 
don't  suppose  there  is  any  chance  of  my  catching 
Mr.  Matthews  in  town  before  he  leaves?" 

"There  is  no  boat  up  to-night,  you  know." 

"That  is  so.  I  did  not  remember  that  this  was 
Saturday/* 


THE  LETTERS  ON  THE  TRUNK     125 

"Moreover,  if  you  were  to  take  the  train,  very 
likely  he  would  have  left  by  the  time  you  could 
reach  the  city.  Better  possess  your  soul  in  patience, 
Mr.  Jeffreys,  and  wait  till  he  gets  back." 

"I  have  been  patient  for  some  time,"  he  responded 
quietly. 

"To  be  sure,  you  have ;  so  that  twenty- four  hours 
longer  will  not  seem  impossible.  It  certainly  is  a 
curious  coincidence,  though  doubtless  there  are 
other  steamer  trunks  bearing  the  initials  J.  S.  D." 

"Yes,  I  admit  that;  and  how  mine  could  have 
found  its  way  to  the  express  office  is  another  puz- 
zle." 

"I  shouldn't  bother  much  about  the  how,  if  you 
discover  that  it  really  did  reach  there." 

There  was  a  pause  for  a  moment,  then  Linda 
said:  "You  haven't  told  Aunt  Ri  your  secret  yet, 


cousin." 


Miss  Ri  wheeled  around  in  her  chair.  "Cousin! 
What  are  you  talking  about,  Verlinda  Talbot?" 

"Our  great-grandfathers  were  brothers,  Miss 
Hill,"  said  Mr.  Jeffreys.  "It  doesn't  give  a  very 
near  relationship,  I  admit,  but  there  it  is  and  we 
are  of  the  same  blood." 

"Well,  I  am  astonished.  Tell  me  all  about  it, 
right  away.  Your  great-grandfather  on  the  Talbot 
side,  is  it,  Verlinda  ?  Yours  was  Madison,  and  who 
was  yours,  Mr.  Jeffreys?" 

"Cyrus,  whose  daughter  Lovina  married  Wyatt 


126  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

Jeffreys,  after  whom  I  am  named.  My  grandfather 
that  was,  you  see." 

"And  that  is  why  the  name  always  sounded  so 
familiar,"  exclaimed  Linda.  "I  am  sure  I  have 
heard  my  grandmother  speak  of  him,  for  you  see, 
Lovina  would  be  her  husband's  first  cousin.  Go  on, 
please,  Mr.  Jeffreys." 

"Very  well.  After  the  War  of  1812,  Cyrus  Tal- 
bot  removed  to  Western  Pennsylvania.  I  believe 
his  house  was  burned  during  that  war,  and  he,  like 
many  others,  was  seized  with  the  spirit  of  emigra- 
tion to  the  West." 

"The  old  house  at  Talbot's  Addition  was  burned, 
you  remember,"  cried  Linda,  turning  to  Miss  Ri, 
"though  I  don't  know  just  when."  She  turned 
again  to  Mr.  Jeffreys. 

"Lovina  married  a  young  Englishman,"  he  con- 
tinued. "In  those  days  the  feeling  was  very  bitter 
against  the  English,  and  her  father  refused  to  see 
her;  but  after  his  death  an  old  box  of  papers  came 
into  her  possession,  and  they  were  found  to  be  his. 
He  had  married  a  second  time,  but  there  were  no 
children  by  this  marriage.  By  his  will,  Cyrus  Tal- 
bot  left  most  of  his  property  in  Western  Pennsyl- 
vania to  his  wife,  but  a  clause  of  the  will  read: 
'The  remainder  of  my  property  to  my  daughter 
Lovina/  A  little  farm  in  that  part  of  the  country 
to  which  he  emigrated  was  supposed  to  be  all  that 
came  to  Lovina,  but  the  old  papers  show,  we  believe, 


THE  LETTERS  ON  THE  TRUNK     127 

that  he  still  had  a  claim  to  estates  here  in  Mary- 
land. Lovina  went  to  England  after  her  marriage, 
and  the  papers  were  left  with  some  of  the  neighbors, 
though  she  seems  to  have  had  possession  of  them 
afterward,  for  there  was  a  memorandum  giving 
the  name  and  address  of  the  persons  in  whose  care 
it  was  eventually  left.  This  memorandum  my 
father  found  after  her  death,  and  when  he  came 
to  this  country  later  on,  he  hunted  up  the  box  and 
told  me  several  times  that  there  might  be  some- 
thing in  those  papers  if  one  had  time  or  would  take 
the  trouble  to  look  them  over.  He  settled  in  Hart- 
ford and  died  there.  My  father  left  a  life  insur- 
ance which  was  sufficient  for  my  mother's  needs 
and  which  has  descended  to  me  now  that  she  is 
gone.  I  have  not  studied  a  profession,  but  had  a 
clerkship,  which  seemed  to  promise  little  future,  and 
after  thinking  over  the  situation,  I  determined  to 
make  a  break,  come  down  here  and  see  if  there  were 
really  anything  to  be  done  about  that  property." 

He  concluded  his  story.  Miss  Ri  sat  drumming 
on  the  arms  of  her  chair,  as  was  her  habit  when 
thinking  deeply.  Linda,  no  less  preoccupied,  sat 
with  eyes  fixed  upon  the  plants  in  the  window.  It 
was  she  who  broke  the  silence.  "It  must  be  Tal- 
bot's  Addition,"  she  decided ;  "but,  oh,  what  a  snarl 
for  the  lawyers." 

"It  certainly  will  be,"  agreed  Miss  Ri,  with  a  little 
laugh.  "My  dear  man,  I  am  thinking  the  game 


128  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

will  not  be  worth  the  candle.  However,  we  shall 
see.  If  Berk  takes  up  your  case,  you  may  be  sure 
of  honest  dealing,  at  least.  He  little  knows  what 
his  purchase  has  brought  about." 

Yet  it  was  not  at  the  end  of  twenty-four  hours 
that  Wyatt  Jeffreys  received  the  assurance  he  hoped 
for,  though  he  sought  the  Jackson  House  imme- 
diately upon  the  arrival  of  the  morning  boat.  Mr. 
Matthews  was  not  there.  Had  he  arrived?  Oh, 
yes;  he  came  in  on  the  train  the  night  before,  but 
went  off  again  with  Judge  Baker  first  thing  in 
the  morning.  When  would  he  be  back?  Not  for 
some  time.  He  took  a  trunk  with  him,  and  would 
be  making  the  circuit  with  the  judge. 

Therefore  Wyatt  Jeffreys  turned  disappointedly 
away.  He  went  directly  to  Miss  Ri,  who  observed 
him  walking  so  dejectedly  up  the  gravelled  path, 
that  she  went  out  on  the  porch  to  meet  him. 

"Wasn't  it  your  trunk?"  she  began.  "I  had 
worked  myself  quite  into  the  belief  that  it  must  be, 
so  I  am  not  ready  for  a  disappointment." 

"It  is  not  exactly  disappointment,  but  only  hope 
deferred,"  was  the  reply.  "Mr.  Matthews  came 
last  night,  but  went  off  early  this  morning  with 
Judge  Baker." 

"Pshaw!  that  is  trying,  isn't  it?  However,  we 
must  make  the  best  of  it.  Perhaps  he  didn't  take 
the  trunk." 

"He  took  a  trunk." 


THE  LETTERS  ON  THE  TRUNK     129 

"I  wonder  if  he  started  from  the  Jackson  House 
or  his  office  ?  We  might  make  a  tour  of  investiga- 
tion. Just  wait  till  I  look  to  one  or  two  things,  and 
then  we'll  see  what  can  be  done." 

She  did  not  keep  him  waiting  long,  and  together 
they  went  first  to  the  square  brick  building,  with 
its  white  columns,  which  was  designated  the  Jack- 
son House.  Its  porch  was  occupied  by  various  per- 
sons who,  with  chairs  tipped  back,  were  smoking 
sociably.  In  the  lobby  were  gathered  others  who, 
less  inclined  for  outdoor  air,  were  taking  a  morning 
cigar  there.  Miss  Ri  interviewed  the  clerk,  porter, 
and  chambermaid  to  gather  the  information  that 
Mr.  Matthews  had  come  in  on  the  train  with  a 
trunk,  which  came  up  on  the  bus  with  him  and 
which  the  porter  afterward  carried  to  his  office ;  the 
same  trunk  it  was  which  he  took  with  him  that 
morning. 

"Now  we'll  go  to  his  office,"  decided  Miss  Ri  as 
they  left  the  hotel.  "I  am  wondering  what  he  did 
with  the  papers.  There  is  probably  a  youngster 
in  charge  of  the  office,  who  can  tell  us  some- 
thing." 

The  office  was  just  across  the  street.  Here  they 
learned  that  Mr.  Matthews  had  come  in  that  morn- 
ing in  a  great  rush  to  gather  up  what  he  should 
need  for  the  trip.  "He  was  here  last  night,  too, 
Miss  Ri,"  said  the  lad,  a  fresh-faced  youngster  of 
seventeen  or  so.  "He  told  me  he  had  to  do  some 


130  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

work,  and  he  came  to  my  house  and  got  the 
key." 

"Do  you  know  if  he  took  any  papers  from  his 
trunk  to  leave  behind?"  inquired  Miss  Ri. 

"I  don't  know;  but  if  he  did,  they  would  be  in 
the  little  room  upstairs.  I  can  see.  Were  there 
some  papers  of  yours,  Miss  Ri?  Perhaps  I  could 
find  them,  if  you  will  tell  me  what  they  are." 

"There  were  some  papers  belonging  to  a  partic- 
ular case  which  I  wanted  to  get  at,"  she  explained. 

The  lad  hesitated  when  she  asked,  "Could  we  go 
up  to  the  little  room?" 

"It's  not  in  very  good  order,"  he  told  her.  "It's 
where  Mr.  Matthews  keeps  odds  and  ends." 

"We  shall  not  mind  the  disorder,"  Miss  Ri  told 
him.  So  he  led  the  way  up  a  narrow  stairway  to 
a  little  attic  room  with  a  small  dusty-paned  window 
at  each  end.  The  room  held  a  motley  collection  of 
things:  saddles  and  bridles,  a  shooting  outfit,  two 
or  three  old  hats  hung  on  the  wall,  one  or  two  boxes 
of  books  and  pamphlets  were  shoved  under  some 
rough  shelves.  The  boy  dragged  out  a  large  valise 
stuffed  so  full  that  its  sides  gaped.  It  was  locked, 
but  from  one  end  hung  a  cravat,  which  Mr.  Jeffreys 
drew  out,  slowly  examining  it,  Miss  Ri  regarding 
him  questioningly. 

"It  looks  very  like  one  of  mine,"  he  said;  "but  I 
don't  lay  claim  to  a  particular  brand  of  tie."  He 
turned  over  the  heavy  valise,  shaking  it  from  side 


THE  LETTERS  ON  THE  TRUNK     131 

to  side.  From  the  bulging  crevice  fell  a  card  upon 
which  was  printed,  "Wyatt  B.  Jeffreys,  Hartford 
Fire  Insurance  Co."  The  young  man  held  it  out 
silently  to  Miss  Ri,  who  gasped,  "Of  all  things! 
That  settles  it." 


CHAPTER   X 

PURSUING   CLUES 

"When  do  you  expect  Mr.  Matthews?"  Miss  Ri 
asked  the  boy,  who  was  watching  them  curiously. 

"Oh,  not  for  a  week  or  more.  He  told  me  to 
hold  down  the  office  till  he  came,  so  I'm  keeping 
the  lid  on  the  best  I  know  how.  I  don't  see  any 
papers  marked  for  you,  Miss  Ri."  He  looked 
around  on  the  shelves  at  some  dusty  collections. 

"No?  Well,  never  mind;  we  can  see  about  it 
later.  Suppose  we  slip  that  card  and  necktie  back, 
Mr.  Jeffreys?  Thank  you,  Billy,  for  letting  us 
come  up."  Everyone  in  town  was  known  to  Miss 
Ri,  as  she  was  known  to  everyone. 

Once  out  in  the  street,  Miss  Ri  gave  voice  to  her 
conjectures.  "Of  course,  Mr.  Jeffreys,  we  can  be 
positive  now,  don't  you  think?" 

"One  might  suppose  so,  only  that  I  have  been 
thinking  I  may  have  given  Matthews  one  of  my 
cards  which  I  chanced  to  have  with  me,  and  he  has 
stuffed  it  into  his  valise  along  with  other  things 
which  may  have  no  connection  with  me  whatever. 
I  can't  exactly  believe  it  is  proof  positive." 

"But  the  cravat?" 

132 


PURSUING  CLUES  133 

"Almost  anyone  might  have  a  blue  spotted  tie 
like  that.  No,  Miss  Hill ;  I  can't  say  I  think  it  wise 
to  jump  at  the  conclusion." 

"Oh,  dear  me,  the  masculine  mind  does  work 
more  deliberately  than  ours,  doesn't  it?  At  all 
events,  I  think  it  is  something  to  go  on,  if  not  abso- 
lute proof.  Let  me  see;  first  the  trunk  with  the 
same  initials,  next  the  cravat,  then  the  card.  One 
doesn't  expect  to  meet  three  such  coincidences  and 
gain  no  result,  does  one?  Eliminate  two,  and  you 
still  have  one  pretty  good  proof,  I  should  say. 
What  are  you  going  to  do  next,  pending  Berk's 
return?  You  surely  don't  mean  to  sit  down  and 
twiddle  your  thumbs?" 

"No,  hardly.  I  think  I  will  go  up  to  the  city  and 
interview  the  express  people.  If  this  is  really  my 
trunk,  it  may  be  superfluous  to  make  the  trip,  but 
it  will  give  me  something  to  do,  and  may  bring 
about  some  satisfactory  conclusion." 

"It  isn't  a  bad  move,"  returned  Miss  Ri.  "You 
know  the  date,  I  suppose,  and  no  doubt  they  have 
some  record." 

"That  is  what  I  am  hoping  for.  If  I  only  knew 
the  number,  which  they  must  have  marked  on  the 
trunk,  it  would  help." 

"How  would  it  do  to  follow  up  Berk?  You  could 
probably  find  out  where  the  judge  is  going;  it  may 
be  his  family  can  tell.  Suppose  we  stop  by  and  see 
what  Mrs.  Baker  can  tell  us?" 


134  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

But  the  Baker  family  were  all  in  the  city  and 
that  clue  was  dropped.  Then  the  two  returned  to 
Miss  Ri's  and  bethought  themselves  of  getting 
Berkley  on  the  telephone,  but  this,  too,  failed.  He 
had  been  to  the  hotel,  in  a  certain  little  town,  which 
they  called  up,  but  had  departed.  Where  was  he 
going  next?  "Couldn't  say." 

"That  clips  off  one  thread,"  said  Miss  Ri,  putting 
down  the  receiver.  "You'd  better  go  to  town,  after 
all.  It  will  keep  you  occupied,  and  it  is  always  a 
relief  to  be  doing  something,  when  one  must  wait. 
You'd  get  there  quicker  by  taking  the  train,  but 
the  boat  is  cheaper,  and  I  don't  know  that  you  would 
gain  anything  by  starting  earlier,  for  it  would  be 
too  late  to  accomplish  anything  if  you  did  get  in  this 
evening.  You'll  report  progress,  of  course,  when 
you  get  back?" 

"Surely." 

Miss  Ri  watched  him  depart,  and  then  sat  for  a 
long  time  pondering  over  the  situation.  Why 
should  she  interest  herself  in  a  stranger  ?  And  sup- 
posing it  were  so  that  he  found  his  papers  and 
proved  his  claim,  mightn't  that  mean  loss  to  Linda ; 
or  if  not  to  her,  to  someone  they  all  had  known  as  a 
neighbor?  It  might  possibly  be  Talbot's  Angles. 
No,  that  couldn't  be,  thought  Miss  Ri,  for  everyone 
knows  it  belonged  to  Jim  Talbot  and  his  father  be- 
fore him.  Well,  it  is  all  very  puzzling,  and  Linda 


PURSUING  CLUES  135 

may  yet  have  her  chance.  Grace  is  just  the  silly 
kind  of  pretty  woman  to  attract  some  blind  bat  of 
a  man.  There  comes  my  girlie ;  I  must  tell  her  all 
the  news.  "It's  the  greatest  comfort  in  the  world 
to  have  someone  in  the  house  I  can  gossip  to,"  she 
said  as  Linda  entered.  "I  don't  know  what  I  did 
before  you  came." 

"Stepped  out  the  back  way  to  Miss  Parthy." 

"Yes,  that  is  just  what  I  did;  but  fond  as  I  am 
of  Parthy  Turner,  there  are  subjects  I  would  rather 
not  discuss  with  her,  to  say  nothing  of  the  plague 
of  finding  a  man  in  the  way  whenever  I  go  over 
there  nowadays.  Tired,  are  you?" 

"Not  so  very.  If  I  am  half  the  comfort  to  you 
that  you  are  to  me,  Aunt  Ri,  I  am  very  glad." 

"So  we  are  mutually  satisfied ;  that  is  good.  Lie 
down  there  on  the  sofa  till  dinner  is  ready,  and  I'll 
tell  you  what  I've  been  doing." 

Linda  obeyed,  and  Miss  Ri  gave  an  account  of 
the  pursuit  of  clues,  ending  up  with,  "Now,  what 
do  you  think  of  it?" 

"I  think  it  is  very  remarkable,  to  say  the  least, 
and  I  am  inclined  to  believe  with  you  that  the  trunk 
Berk  bought  is  really  Mr.  Jeffreys'.  Aunt  Ri,  do 
you  suppose  Berk  could  have  found  that  out?  I 
don't  see  why  he  shouldn't  have  made  the  discovery 
as  soon  as  he  opened  it,  in  which  case  I  think  he 
ought  to  have  notified  Mr.  Jeffreys  at  once." 


136  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

"My  dear,  I  don't  for  a  moment  think  that  of 
Berk.  He  is  too  honest  and  straightforward,  and 
besides,  what  would  be  his  object?" 

"I  don't  know ;  yet,  if  he  removed  the  papers,  how 
could  he  help  seeing  whose  they  were  ?  They  must 
have  been  marked  in  some  way  to  identify  them." 

"I  don't  believe  he  noticed  them  at  all." 

"Wouldn't  you  have  done  so?" 

"I  am  a  woman,  and  a  woman  always  notices  de- 
tails more  quickly  than  a  man.  Don't  be  suspicious, 
Verlinda." 

"I'm  not;  but  I  can't  help  conjecturing." 

"It  isn't  worth  while  to  do  even  that  till  the  two 
come  back.  We  will  nab  Berk  as  soon  as  he  gets 
here  and  have  it  settled.  I  don't  know  when  any- 
thing so  exciting  has  occurred  in  this  town,  and 
to  think  it  concerns  you,  too.  We  mustn't  let  it 
get  out,  or  the  whole  place  will  be  agog.  That 
young  man  is  right  to  keep  his  affairs  to  himself." 

But  in  spite  of  Miss  Ri's  intention  to  nab  Berkley 
Matthews  as  soon  as  he  returned,  that  opportunity 
was  not  accorded  her,  for  though  she  called  up  his 
office  daily,  he  arrived  one  evening  and  was  off  again 
the  next  day,  unfortunately  making  his  call  at  Miss 
Ri's  when  neither  she  nor  Linda  was  at  home.  Mrs. 
Becky  Hill  had  come  to  town  and  had  carried  off 
Miss  Ri,  willy-nilly,  to  look  at  a  horse  which  Mrs. 
Becky  thought  of  buying.  When  Miss  Ri  returned 
from  the  five-mile  drive,  Phebe  met  her  at  the  door, 


PURSUING  CLUES  137 

saying,  "Mr.  Matthews  done  been  hyar  whilst  yuh 
away,  Miss  Ri.  He  lef  a  note  on  de  table  in  de 
settin'-room." 

Miss  Ri  was  reading  the  note  when  Linda  came 
in.  "Now  isn't  this  hard  luck?"  exclaimed  the 
older  woman.  "Becky  came  in  this  afternoon  and 
nothing  would  do  but  I  must  be  dragged  off  to  Hill- 
side to  see  about  a  horse  she  has  an  idea  of  buying. 
She  wanted  my  advice,  as  if  I  were  a  horse-dealer 
and  spent  my  time  looking  in  horses'  mouths  to 
count  their  teeth." 

"Didn't  you  have  a  pleasant  drive?  It  is  a  lovely 
day,"  returned  Linda. 

"Oh,  it  was  pleasant  enough ;  I  really  enjoyed  it, 
but  it  made  me  miss  Berk  Matthews.  Here's  a 
note  from  him  saying  he  was  sorry  not  to  find  us 
at  home  and  that  he  is  going  off  duck-shooting 
down  the  bay.  Isn't  that  provoking?" 

"It  surely  is.  Does  he  say  anything  about  the 
trunk?" 

"Not  a  syllable." 

"Nor  when  he  will  be  back?" 

"Not  a  word.     Here  read  for  yourself." 

Linda  took  the  hastily-scribbled  note,  written  in 
the  rather  cramped,  lawyer-like  handwriting  which 
she  had  come  to  know  as  Berkley's : 

"Sorry  not  to  see  you.  Am  off  for  some  duck- 
shooting.  I  will  bring  a  brace  to  you  and  we'll 


138  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

eat  them  together,   allowing  Linda  the  bones  to 
pick. 

"In  haste, 

"BERK." 

That  was  all. 

"It  sounds  very  like  Berk,"  said  Linda,  "and  it 
doesn't  seem  possible  that  he  could  be  keeping  away 
on  purpose.  Mr.  Jeffreys  will  be  very  much  disap- 
pointed, I  am  afraid." 

"Of  course,  it  is  not  on  purpose.  What  an  idea, 
Verlinda !  All  the  men  go  duck-shooting  this  time 
of  year;  it's  about  all  the  amusement  they  get  in 
this  part  of  the  world.  You  wouldn't  deprive  him 
of  it?" 

"Yes,  I  would;  for  I  don't  like  even  ducks  to  be 
killed.  However,  I  suppose  it  is  inevitable." 

"Of  course  it  is  inevitable  while  ducks  fly  over 
the  waters  of  the  bay.  For  my  part,  I  like  to  see 
the  lads  go  off  in  their  shooting  clothes,  with  their 
dogs  and  their  guns.  Ducks  can't  live  forever,  and 
if  we  don't  eat  them,  something  else  will." 

"If  they  were  all  killed  outright,  I  shouldn't  care 
so  much ;  for,  of  course,  they  are  intended  for  food, 
but  I  can't  bear  to  think  of  their  only  being 
wounded  and  of  their  suffering,  perhaps,  for  days." 

"You  have  too  tender  a  heart,  Verlinda,  for  a 
girl  who  has  been  brought  up  in  a  hunting  commun- 
ity." 


PURSUING  CLUES  139 

"Perhaps  that  is  the  very  reason ;  because  I  have 
seen  something  of  what  it  means  to  the  poor  ducks. 
Have  you  seen  Mr.  Jeffreys?  He  was  to  have  re- 
turned this  morning." 

"No,  I  haven't  seen  him.  I'll  call  up  Parthy  and 
find  out  if  he  has  returned.  If  he  has,  I'll  ask  her 
to  send  him  over/' 

"Do  you  want  to  do  that?" 

"Why  not?" 

Linda  did  not  give  any  reason,  and  Miss  Ri  went 
to  the  'phone.  Mr.  Jeffreys  himself  answered  it, 
and  promised  to  come  over  immediately. 

He  was  met  by  the  question:  "What  report?" 

"Not  much  of  any  account.  I  went  to  see  the 
express  people,"  he  told  them,  "and  they  admitted 
that  there  were  such  things  as  drunken  drivers  who 
might  hand  over  orders  to  others  who,  in  turn, 
would  maybe  deliver  a  trunk  to  the  wrong  place; 
that  had  sometimes  happened.  And  if  the  trunk 
were  not  marked,  or  if  the  tag  were  torn,  there 
would  be  little  chance  of  its  reaching  the  proper 
owner,  unless  he  held  the  express  company's  receipt. 
So  I  came  away  with  nothing  more  than  a  warning 
not  to  trust  any  but  the  regular  expressmen,  and 
that  is  about  all  the  satisfaction  I  could  get." 

"Too  bad !"  declared  Miss  Ri.  "And  now,  I  sup- 
pose you  know  Berk  is  off  duck-shooting,  and  that 
is  another  delay  for  you." 

"Yes,  I  heard  about  that.     I  went  to  the  hotel, 


140  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

but  couldn't  very  well  ask  to  be  allowed  to  break 
into  his  room,  where  the  trunk  probably  is;  and 
Billy  would  think  me  a  most  suspicious  character, 
if  I  asked  for  a  second  view  of  the  valise.  I  am 
beginning  to  think  that,  after  all,  we  have  made 
a  mistake,  and  that  he  has  not  my  property  at  all, 
or  he  surely  would  have  notified  me." 

"It  does  look  that  way,  and  it  is  very  provoking 
to  be  kept  in  suspense.  I  will  tell  you  what  I  will 
do.  If  you  can't  get  into  Berk's  room,  I  can.  I 
know  the  proprietor  of  the  Jackson  House,  and  his 
wife,  as  well ;  so  I  am  sure  I  can  manage.  I'll  make 
an  effort  this  very  afternoon.  Berk  won't  mind 
when  I  tell  him  and  he  learns  it  was  in  a  good  cause. 
I  will  bring  away  a  pile  of  stockings  to  mend,  and 
that  will  be  an  excellent  excuse.  I  can  make  a 
strict  examination  of  the  trunk  and  bring  you  an 
accurate  description,  so  if  there  are  any  identifying 
marks,  I  can  tell  you.  How  will  that  do?" 

"Miss  Hill,  you  are  a  miracle  of  ingenuity.  That 
is  a  great  scheme." 

Miss  Ri  looked  up  at  the  clock.  "It  isn't  so  late. 
I  believe  I  will  go  now.  No  time  like  the  present. 
You  can  stay  here  with  Linda  till  I  get  back.  I 
won't  be  long." 

"Isn't  she  wonderful?"  said  Mr.  Jeffreys,  looking 
after  the  stout  figure  admiringly.  "She  is  so  direct, 
and  so  initiative.  A  woman  like  that  is  a  friend 


PURSUING  CLUES  141 

worth  having.  I  liked  her  from  the  moment  I  saw 
her  out  in  this  old  garden." 

Linda  warmed  to  the  praise  of  her  friend.  She 
was  somewhat  annoyed  at  Berkley's  readiness  to 
allow  other  matters  to  interfere  with  his  visits  to 
the  house,  and  with  his  attention  to  Mr.  Jeffreys' 
affairs.  She  felt  sorry  for  the  young  man  who, 
like  herself,  was  lonely  and  bereft.  She  was  too 
tender-hearted  not  to  show  sympathy  for  anyone  so 
unfortunate,  and  she  was  very  gentle  in  her  man- 
ner toward  him,  so  the  two  sat  there  talking  of  those 
personal  things  which  draw  those  with  similar  in- 
terests together,  and  Miss  Ri's  absence  seemed  a 
very  short  one. 

She  came  in  flushed  and  panting  from  a  rapid 
walk,  a  bundle  of  stockings,  done  up  in  newspaper, 
under  her  arm,  and  in  her  hand  a  bit  of  paper  which 
she  laid  triumphantly  on  the  table.  It  was  getting 
dark,  and  she  called  for  lights,  as  she  threw  aside 
her  wraps.  "Find  the  matches,  Verlinda,  and  get 
Mr.  Jeffreys  to  light  the  gas.  I  really  think  I  have 
found  something  worth  while." 

While  Linda  was  searching  for  the  matches,  Mr. 
Jeffreys  had  taken  the  bit  of  paper  to  the  window 
and  was  examining  it  by  the  waning  light.  He 
came  back  to  take  the  matches  from  Linda's  hand 
and  to  say,  "Miss  Hill,  I  really  think  you  have 
brought  me  proof  positive." 


142  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

"Wait  till  we  get  a  light,"  she  returned. 

Another  moment  furnished  this,  and  then,  under 
the  lighted  chandelier,  he  showed  them  the  paper,  a 
piece  of  a  tag  from  which  more  than  half  had  been 
torn.  That  remaining  showed  but  four  letters, 
though  they  were  enough.  "You  see  here,"  said 
Mr.  Jeffreys,  "on  this  first  line  was  W.  B.  Jeffreys. 
The  W.  B.,  in  my  handwriting,  remains.  On  the 
second  line  was  Sandbridge,  of  which  the  S  alone 
is  left.  The  third  line  showed  Md.,  and  you  see 
not  quite  all  of  the  M.  I  would  swear  to  it  in  any 
court." 

"Which  will  not  be  necessary,  as  no  doubt  you 
have  the  trunk  key  and  can  describe  the  contents." 

"Tell  us  how  you  managed,  Aunt  Ri,"  urged 
Linda. 

"Well,  first  I  hunted  up  Mrs.  Beall,  told  her  I 
wanted  to  get  some  of  Berk's  socks  to  mend  in  order 
to  surprise  him;  so  she  told  the  chambermaid  to 
open  his  room  for  me.  I  hunted  out  the  holey  socks 
and  then  I  turned  my  attention  to  the  trunk.  There 
it  sat  with  its  J.  S.  D.  as  plain  as  day.  It  was 
locked  and,  of  course,  I  couldn't  get  at  the  inside; 
but  on  one  of  the  handles  I  saw  this  piece  of  tag 
hanging,  so  I  took  it  off  and  brought  it  away.  Of 
course,  I  examined  it  and  came  to  my  own  conclu- 
sions, which  were  the  same  as  yours,  Mr.  Jeffreys. 
So  now,  let  me  congratulate  you.  Since  there  seems 


PURSUING  CLUES  143 

no  doubt  but  that  you  have  found  your  trunk,  the 
waiting  for  Berk  will  not  be  so  trying." 

"I  congratulate  you,  too,"  added  Linda,  holding 
out  her  hand. 

"Thank  you,"  replied  the  young  man,  taking  Miss 
Ri's  proffered  hand  rather  than  Linda's,  and  then 
turning  somewhat  confusedly  to  examine  again  the 
piece  of  paper. 

But,  as  if  to  make  up  for  this  seeming  rudeness, 
for  the  next  few  days  he  was  rarely  absent  from 
the  house  when  Linda  was  there.  He  was  at  the 
gate  when  she  started  forth  to  school;  he  was  at 
the  corner  to  join  her  when  she  came  home.  Sup- 
per was  scarcely  over  before  his  step  was  heard 
upon  the  porch,  and  if  there  was  no  open  love-mak- 
ing, there  was  at  least  a  sufficient  show  of  interest 
to  make  the  girl  feel  that  no  word  of  hers  passed 
unnoticed. 

"I  believe  the  man  is  falling  in  love  with  you," 
averred  Miss  Ri  bluntly,  when  he  left  them  one 
evening;  "if  he  is  not  already  there." 

Linda  flushed,  but  replied  steadily:  "You  must 
remember  that  I  am  a  relative,  and  naturally  he 
turns  to  me  for  sympathy  and  advice.  The  poor 
fellow  has  neither  mother  nor  sister,  and,  of 


course — " 


"Take  care,  Verlinda.     That  'poor  fellow'  sounds 
very  dangerous.     You  know  what  pity  is  akin  to." 


144  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

But  Linda  did  not  reply.  She  turned  out  the 
light  by  the  piano,  busied  herself  in  straightening 
the  room,  and  then,  kissing  Miss  Ri  good-night, 
went  directly  upstairs.  She  stood  a  long  time  be- 
fore her  mirror,  thoughtfully  gazing  at  the  reflec- 
tion she  saw  there,  and  after  she  had  turned  out  her 
light,  she  went  to  the  window  which  opened  upon 
the  back  garden,  looking  across  to  where  a 
twinkling  beam  shone  out  from  Miss  Parthy's 
house.  "It  is  rather  nice  to  have  a  new  cousin," 
she  said  to  herself,  as  she  drew  down  the  shade 
again  and  turned  to  open  a  window  further  away 
from  her  bed. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  entry,  Miss  Ri,  in  her 
room,  was  frowning  and  saying  savagely  to  her- 
self: "Maria  Hill,  you  are  an  idiot.  It  is  just  like 
you  to  be  carried  away  by  some  new  excitement, 
never  looking  far  enough  ahead  to  discover  what 
it  is  all  leading  to.  I  say  you  are  an  idiot,  and  you 
are  not  the  only  one,  if  the  truth  were  known." 


CHAPTER  XI 

A   NEWSPAPER 

Linda,  though  spontaneous  enough  in  ordinary 
matters  like  most  Southern  girls,  was  reticent  when 
it  came  to  those  things  which  touched  her  most 
nearly.  She  was  but  fifteen  when  her  mother  died ; 
her  sisters,  older  than  herself,  had  passed  out  of 
her  life  before  she  had  really  known  them  well. 
The  elder  had  married  and  had  died  within  a  year, 
the  younger,  Linda  remembered  only  as  a  delicate 
girl,  who  was  too  frail  to  go  so  far  as  town  to 
school,  and  who  one  day  was  covered  with  flowers 
and  was  borne  to  the  little  churchyard.  So  at  the 
very  time  Linda  had  needed  someone  to  whom  to 
give  her  confidences  she  had  only  her  older  brother, 
Martin,  a  busy  man,  and  one  who  could  hardly 
sympathize  with  her  youthful  fancies,  her  flights 
of  imagination,  however  kind  he  might  be.  There- 
fore because  she  must  have  some  outlet  for  her 
fanciful  thoughts  she  began  to  scribble,  for  her  own 
pleasure  at  first,  later  with  the  hope  that  she  might 
one  day  write  something  worth  publishing.  It  was 
not  till  she  had  taken  up  her  abode  with  Miss  Ri 
that  she  did  timidly  send  forth  some  little  verses, 

145 


146  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

very  doubtful  of  their  finding  a  place  in  the  columns 
of  the  newspaper  to  which  she  sent  them. 

Time  went  on  and  she  had  heard  nothing  of  her 
small  venture,  but  one  Saturday  morning,  having 
gone  to  the  school-house  for  some  book  she  needed, 
she  stopped  at  the  postoffice  for  the  mail,  forestall- 
ing the  postman  who  could  deliver  it  later. 

On  the  threshold  she  met  Berk  Matthews. 
"Why,  hallo,  Linda,"  he  exclaimed.  "Haven't  seen 
you  for  a  month  of  Sundays." 

"And  whose  fault  is  that,  I'd  like  to  know,"  she 
answered. 

"Whose  fault?  Why,  the  ducks,  of  course.  I 
didn't  have  any  luck  and  am  going  out  again.  By 
the  way  when  did  you  turn  poet?" 

Linda  paled,  flushed,  looked  down  nervously, 
shuffled  the  letters  and  papers  she  held.  "What  do 
you  mean  ?"  she  asked  at  last. 

"There's  only  one  Verlinda  Talbot,  isn't  there? 
Unless  someone  has  borrowed  your  very  pretty  and 
unusual  name.  Look  at  this."  He  thrust  his 
hand  into  his  coat  pocket  and  drew  forth  a  paper, 
opened  the  sheet  and  pointed  out  the  following: 

THE  MARCHING  PINES 

Up  from  the  "hill-slope  and  over  the  ridge 

An  army  is  coming  of  marching  pines. 

The  cloud-shadows  lurking,  lie  low  on  the  bridge 

Wrought  out  by  the  moonbeams  in  delicate  lines. 


A  NEWSPAPER  147 

They  march  from  the  meadow  land  over  the  snow 
With  bayonets  pointed,  a  solid  phalanx, 
Save  where,  on  their  outlying  edges,  they  show 
A  few  timid  stragglers  who've  broken  the  ranks. 

And  down  in  the  field,  set  in  orderly  rows 

Are  wigwams,  one  sees  by  the  light  of  the  moon. 

Hark!     Hark!     Does   a   war-whoop   discover   the 

foes? 

From  out  of  the  marsh  comes  the  laugh  of  a  loon. 

Verlinda  Talbot. 

"Here,  let  me  take  your  things,"  said  the  young 
man  gently  as  he  perceived  by  her  shaking  hands 
and  changing  color  that  she  was  agitated.  He 
watched  her  read  the  lines  through  and  as  she 
raised  sweet  questioning  eyes,  he  bit  his  lip  and 
drew  in  his  breath  quickly  and  sharply.  "I  like 
it,  Linda,"  he  said  as  she  folded  the  paper  and 
handed  it  back  to  him.  "How  did  you  manage  to 
do  it?  I  am  as  proud  as  can  be  of  you." 

"Are  you  really,  Berk?  That  is  very  nice  of  you. 
To  think  you  saw  it  before  I  did.  Why  I  didn't 
even  know  they  were  going  to  print  it." 

"You  didn't?  Then  I'm  the  discoverer.  I'm 
proud  of  that,  too.  Very  likely  you  will  find  a 
copy  of  the  paper  in  your  mail.  ,  Are  they  paying 
you  well  for  it?" 

"Oh,  no,  I  don't  think  they  pay  at  all.     I  don't 


i48  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

expect  that.  I  am  paid  sufficiently  by  seeing  it  in 
print  this  time.  Perhaps — some  day — if  I  keep 
on—" 

"You  will  be  a  great  writer." 

"Oh,  never  that,  but  I  may  be  able  to  write  some- 
thing worth  while.  I  long  to." 

"And  give  up  teaching?  You  don't  like  teach- 
ing." 

"I  don't  believe  I  do  very  much." 

"Yet  I  hear  good  accounts  of  you." 

"Really,  Berk?" 

"Certainly  I  do.  Mr.  Willis  told  me  you  were 
very  satisfactory,  and  had  broken  in  your  class  so 
they  trotted  along  without  a  break." 

"I  think  we  do  get  along  better,"  Linda  acknowl- 
edged a  little  dubiously,  "and  I  believe  the  small 
boys  do  begin  to  like  me  more  than  they  did,  at 
least  some  of  them  do." 

"All  of  them  will  in  time,  I  am  sure." 

"You're  a  nice  encouraging  friend,  Berk.  Is 
this  where  we  part?" 

"Yes,  I  have  an  appointment  with  Judge  Morris 
this  morning.  Good-by.  Tell  Miss  Ri  I'll  be 
around  soon." 

He  gave  the  budget  into  her  hands,  raised  his 
hat  and  entered  the  little  one-storied  building  at 
the  side  of  whose  door  were  signs  denoting  the  call- 
ing of  those  whose  offices  were  within,  lawyers  all, 
two  judges  among  them. 


A  NEWSPAPER  149 

The  trees  over-arching  the  long  street  had  lost 
most  of  their  leaves,  but  the  river  was  as  blue  as 
ever,  and  the  gardens  still  held  late  blooms.  A 
tall  cosmos  peeped  over  the  fence  of  one,  chrys- 
anthemums made  a  brave  showing  in  another.  A 
few  courageous  nasturtiums  started  brilliantly  from 
amid  their  yellowing  leaves,  scarlet  salvia  shot  out 
myriads  of  little  tongues  of  flame  before  almost 
every  house.  The  streets  were  quite  full  of  peo- 
ple this  Saturday  morning.  Country  vehicles,  mud- 
stained,  and  in  many  cases  rickety  and  drawn  by 
shabby  mules,  jostled  more  pretentious  teams. 
Lolling  darkies  singing  some  monotonous  camp- 
meeting  hymn,  drove  their  brick  carts  to  a  new 
building  which  was  going  up  near  by.  Dogs  were 
seen  everywhere,  some  at  the  heels  of  the  young 
men  who,  in  hunting  attire,  were  making  ready  to 
start  out  for  a  day's  shooting,  some  lying  on  the 
porches  ready  to  bark  at  any  passer-by,  some 
sportively  chasing  one  another  up  and  down  the 
street,  playfully  catching  at  the  long  silky  ear  of 
a  companion,  or  rolling  him  over  and  over,  then 
off  again  in  hot  chase.  One  or  two  thrust  their 
cold  noses  into  Linda's  hand  as  she  passed  them, 
and  with  wagging  tail  received  her  caress  and 
"Nice  doggie"  as  something  not  only  expected  but 
deserved.  The  air  was  soft,  sweet  and  languorous, 
for  Indian  summer  was  here  and  the  days  still  held 
suggestions  of  the  earlier  season. 


150  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

Linda  turned  in  at  the  gate  leading  to  Miss  Ri's 
house,  and  pushing  her  feet  through  the  drift  of 
crisp  leaves  which  covered  the  gravelled  walk,  en- 
joyed the  exhilaration  of  the  hour.  She  was  buoy- 
ant, hopeful,  really  happy.  Life  was  opening  up 
wonderful  possibilities.  The  music  of  the  spheres 
was  hers.  She  read  the  spirit  of  the  universe  in 
each  dancing  leaf,  in  each  scarlet  flower-flame. 

Seeing  Phebe  at  the  back  of  the  house  she  ran 
around  to  her.  The  old  woman  raised  herself 
ponderously  from  where  she  was  spreading  her 
dish-towels  on  the  grass.  "Do  you  like  it  here? 
Are  you  happy,  Mammy?"  asked  Linda. 

"Jes  listen  to  de  chile/'  exclaimed  Mammy.  "Is 
I  happy?  I  done  got  'ligion  long  ago,  honey,  and 
I  ain't  back-slid  fo'  many  a  ye'r.  Co'se  I  is  happy. 
I  ain't  shoutin'  but  I  ain't  mo'nin',  an'  I  hopes  I 
ain't  lak  dese  young  things  dat  hollers  hallelujah 
at  nights  and  steals  from  de  madam  in  de  mawnin'. 
Co'se  I  is  happy  long  as  mah  baby  ain't  down  in 
de  mouf.  Yuh  sutt'nly  looks  peart,  honey,  an* 
bless  mah  Lord  an'  Marster  dat  I  kin  say  it.  Whar 
all  yo'  beaux,  honey  chile?" 

Linda  laughed.  "Oh,  they'll  be  around  after  a 
while." 

Mammy  chuckled  and  Linda  entering  by  the  back 
door,  after  some  searching,  at  last  found  Miss  Ri 
upstairs  looking  over  the  house  linen. 

"Well,  Verlinda,  you  have  a  fine  color,"  said  the 


A  NEWSPAPER  151 

lady  looking  up.  "It  does  you  good  to  get  out  into 
the  fresh  air.  Any  news  up  town?" 

"I  met  Berk." 

"You  did?     What  did  he  say  about  the  trunk?" 

Linda  stopped  in  the  act  of  tearing  the  wrapper 
from  a  newspaper  she  held.  "Aunt  Ri,  I  declare 
I  never  said  a  word  to  him  about  it.  Never  once 
did  it  enter  my  mind." 

"Verlinda  Talbot!  I  can  scarce  believe  that. 
What  were  you  talking  about  to  make  you  forget 
it?" 

Linda  finished  freeing  the  paper  from  its  wrapper. 
Her  eyes  were  downcast,  and  the  flush  lingered  in 
her  cheeks ;  a  smile  played  around  her  lips.  "This," 
she  answered  holding  out  the  paper  on  which  her 
verses  were  printed. 

Miss  Ri  adjusted  her  spectacles,  read  the  lines, 
laid  the  paper  aside  and  took  the  girl's  hands  in 
hers.  "You  dear,  sentimental  child,"  she  said,  "I 
am  proud  of  you." 

"That  is  what  Berk  said,"  returned  Linda  with  a 
little  pleased  smile. 

"Did  he  ?  Well,  he  may  be.  Why,  my  dear,  we 
shall  all  be  proud  of  you,  the  whole  town.  We 
must  have  you  in  the  club;  you  will  be  an  orna- 
ment to  it." 

Linda  fairly  laughed  at  this.  "One  meagre  little 
set  of  verses  will  not  give  more  than  a  rushlight's 
beam,"  she  answered,  "even  in  Sandbridge,  Aunt 


152  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

Ri.  But  maybe  I  shall  be  a  real  shining  light  some 
day.  Anyhow  it  is  great  fun." 

"Of  course  it  is  to  those  who  can  do  it.  I 
couldn't  to  save  me." 

"And,  you  see,  in  the  excitement  of  the  dis- 
covery, the  reason  of  my  forgetting  the  trunk. 
Please  don't  tell  Mr.  Jeffreys  that  I  have  seen  Berk ; 
he  will  think  me  a  very  indifferent  cousin  if  he 
knows." 

"What  did  Berk  have  to  say  besides  mentioning 
that  he  was  proud  of  you?" 

"He  said  he  had  no  luck  shooting  and  that  he 
was  going  out  again.  I  imagine  he  has  been  pretty 
busy,  but  he  said  I  was  to  tell  you  he'd  be  around 
soon." 

"Ducks  or  no  ducks?" 

"The  ducks  weren't  mentioned." 

"Well,  he'd  better  come  if  he  knows  what  is  good 
for  him.  Here  is  your  other  swain  heading  this 
way.  Go  down  and  see  him  and  keep  the  trunk  out 
of  the  conversation  when  I  am  around  or  I  might 
forget  myself  and  tell  on  you.  I  think  you'd  better 
take  him  off  somewhere  if  you  want  to  be  quite  safe. 
It's  a  fine  day  to  be  out  of  doors." 

"We  can  sit  on  the  porch  or  go  out  on  the  river," 
responded  Linda  as  she  left  the  room. 

She  felt  a  little  diffident  about  showing  her  news- 
paper to  her  visitor,  but,  reflecting  that  Miss  Ri 
would  be  sure  to  speak  of  it,  she  decided  to  have 


A  NEWSPAPER  153 

the  matter  over  with,  and  at  once  displayed  her 
verses.  If  Mr.  Jeffreys  did  not  openly  express  the 
same  appreciation  that  Berkley  had  done  he  was  at 
least  as  effusive  as  Linda  expected,  being  at  no 
time  a  person  who  showed  ardent  enthusiasm.  His 
call  was  not  a  long  one,  for  Linda  felt  a  little  ill 
at  ease,  condemning  herself  for  having  forgotten 
a  thing  so  important  to  him,  and  in  consequence 
she  was  not  able  to  talk  of  his  affairs  with  the 
same  show  of  interest,  a  fact  which  he,  however, 
attributed  to  her  excitement  over  the  printing  of 
her  verses. 

As  the  two  walked  to  the  gate  together  they  saw 
Berkley  drive  by  with  a  friend.  Both  men  were 
equipped  for  hunting,  and  from  between  Berkley's 
knees  looked  out  the  intelligent  face  of  a  fine  brown 
setter  who  was  all  a-quiver  with  the  prospect  in 
view. 

Mr.  Jeffreys  gave  a  sudden  call  after  the  buggy, 
but  checked  himself  directly,  turning  to  Linda  with 
an  air  of  apology.  "I  should  not  have  done  that, 
but  I  was  carried  away  by  my  interest  in  seeing 
Mr.  Matthews.  I  didn't  know  he  was  in  town." 

"He  is  going  off  with  Elmer  Dawson,  evidently," 
rejoined  Linda,  looking  after  the  buggy. 

"And  there  is  no  telling  when  he  will  return. 
The  fates  are  against  me,  Miss  Linda." 

"You  certainly  are  having  a  lesson  in  patience," 
Linda  admitted.  "Never  mind,  Mr.  Jeffreys,  the 


154  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

case  won't  suffer  by  reason  of  delay.  Why  don't 
you  write  a  note  to  Mr.  Matthews?"  she  asked 
suddenly  catching  at  the  idea.  "Tell  him  you  think 
he  has  happened  upon  your  trunk,  describe  it,  and 
ask  him  to  let  you  see  it.  You  must  remember  his 
attention  has  not  been  called  to  it  yet,  and  he  hasn't 
a  notion  that  you  are  in  a  state  of  suspense." 

"Unless  he  has  examined  the  contents." 

"Which  he  may  or  may  not  have  done.  At  all 
events,  you  will  have  the  satisfaction  of  knowing 
that  you  have  brought  the  subject  to  his  notice. 
He  seems  such  a  difficult  person  to  get  at  these 
days  that  it  might  be  as  well  to  write." 

"Thank  you  for  the  suggestion;  it  might  not  be 
a  bad  idea.  I  will  go  home  and  think  it  over." 
He  lifted  his  hat  and  Linda  watched  him  thought- 
fully walking  down  the  street.  "If  Berk  does  know 
it  is  pretty  mean  of  him,"  she  said  to  herself,  and 
she  voiced  the  opinion  to  Miss  Ri  when  she  went 
indoors. 

"It  is  mighty  mean  if  he  really  knows  it,  and  it 
almost  seems  as  if  he  must,"  agreed  Miss  Ri.  "One 
might  almost  think  he  was  doing  it  on  purpose,  if  it 
were  not  really  a  serious  matter.  Berk  is  some- 
thing of  a  tease,  you  know.  I'll  call  him  up  to- 
night and  tell  him  to  come  and  get  his  socks.  He 
doesn't  deserve  to  have  me  mend  them,  the  rascal." 

But  Mr.  Matthews  was  not  at  the  hotel,  came 


A  NEWSPAPER  155 

the  news  over  the  'phone  that  evening.  Neither 
did  he  appear  on  Sunday.  On  Monday  it  was 
learned  that  he  had  returned  but  was  at  Court  when 
Mr.  Jeffreys  tried  to  see  him.  The  day  went  by 
and  there  was  no  response  to  the  note  Mr.  Jeffreys 
mentioned  having  written. 

"It  begins  to  look  very  queer,"  said  Miss  Ri 
soberly  when  Monday  had  passed  and  no  Berkley 
appeared.  "I'm  beginning  to  lose  faith,  Linda,  and 
that  is  something  I  have  never  done  before  where 
Berk  was  concerned.  He  can't  want  to  steal  such 
a  paltry  thing  as  a  trunk." 

"Perhaps  to  his  legal  mind  it  is  his  own  prop- 
erty since  he  bought  it,"  remarked  Linda  in  ex- 
cuse. 

"But  there  are  the  papers." 

"True,  there  are  the  papers.  He  has  no  right 
to  them.  Dear  me,  my  head  fairly  buzzes  with 
trying  to  account  for  it.  I  wish  we  had  never  heard 
of  Wyatt  Jeffreys  and  his  old  trunk.  Why  did  he 
come  here  to  disturb  our  peace?" 

"It  certainly  is  queer  for  Berk  to  act  so,"  con- 
tinued Miss  Ri,  "and  the  queerest  part  of  the  whole 
business  to  me  is  that  he  has  not  been  near  us  for 
two  weeks." 

"He  did  come,  you  remember,  that  day  you  went 
to  the  country  with  Mrs.  Becky." 

"Yes,  I  had  forgotten  that." 


156  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

"And  he  was  as  nice  and  friendly  as  could  be 
the  day  I  met  him  at  the  postoffice." 

"But  he  hasn't  sent  us  those  ducks,"  contended 
Miss  Ri. 


CHAPTER  XII 

A   BRACE  OF  DUCKS 

The  very  next  morning  after  this  talk  Wyatt 
Jeffreys  met  Berkley  Matthews  on  the  street  just 
outside  the  Jackson  House.  "Hallo/'  cried  the 
latter.  "Just  have  your  note.  I've  been  staying 
with  John  Emory,  and  we've  been  off  ducking  so 
I  didn't  get  my  mail  till  this  morning.  It  certainly 
would  be  a  good  joke  if  I  had  captured  your  trunk. 
Suppose  you  come  and  have  a  look  at  it,  and  if 
you  identify  it,  of  course  you  shall  have  it  with- 
out delay.  Come  up  to  my  room." 

As  Mr.  Jeffreys  followed  the  springing  step  all 
suspicion  fled.  Once  in  the  room  the  trunk  was 
easily  recognized.  "There  were  some  papers,"  said 
Mr.  Jeffreys. 

"Oh,  yes,  they  are  over  at  my  office.  I  had  to 
get  a  locksmith  to  open  the  trunk  for  me,  and  he 
had  to  put  on  a  new  lock,  as  you  see.  I  took  out 
the  clothing  over  here,  sent  the  trunk  across  the 
way,  dumped  out  the  papers  in  a  valise  without 
looking  at  them,  and  there  they  are.  You  can  get 
them  any  time." 

157 


158  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

"I'd  like  you  to»go  over  them  with  me  when 
you  have  time,  Matthews." 

"Very  well.  Just  now  I  am  a  little  rushed,  but 
we  can  take  it  up  later  when  I  get  this  case  through 
I  am  now  at  work  upon.  In  the  meantime  I  will 
see  that  you  get  the  trunk  and  the  rest  of  the  things. 
I'll  try  to  get  them  off  this  afternoon.  I  am  cer- 
tainly glad  I  happened  to  take  a  fancy  to  your 
trunk,  but  what  a  queer  coincidence  it  is.  I  never 
associated  it  with  you  at  all.  Those  initials,  J.  S.  D. 
would  have  misled  me  in  any  event.  I  told  Miss 
Ri  they  stood  for  Judge  Some  Day,  and  I  think 
they  are  about  the  only  part  of  the  trunk  I  feel  loth 
to  give  up." 

Mr.  Jeffreys  smiled.  It  was  like  a  sentimental 
Southerner,  he  thought.  Then,  after  some  discus- 
sion about  cost  of  transportation  and  all  that,  the 
matter  was  settled  to  the  satisfaction  of  both. 

With  the  delivery  of  the  trunk  came  the  ducks, 
not  inside  the  trunk,  of  course,  for  that  contained 
everything  which  was  in  it  at  the  time  of  Berkley's 
first  possession,  everything  except  the  papers.  The 
trunk  was  brought  to  Miss  Parthy's  by  an  old 
colored  man  picturesquely  antique  both  as  regarded 
his  costume  and  himself.  Uncle  Moke  everyone 
called  him,  his  real  name  of  Moses  having  fallen 
into  disuse  so  long  before  that  no  one  remembered 
it.  He  was  general  factotum  around  town  and  a 
trusty  messenger.  He  had  delivered  his  first 


A  BRACE  OF  DUCKS  159 

charge  at  Miss  Parthy's  door,  and  then  was  ready 
for  Miss  Ri.  Nothing  pleased  him  more  than  such 
an  errand.  "Evenin'  Miss  Ri,"  said  the  old  fellow 
with  many  a  bow  and  scrape,  his  ragged  hat  in 
his  hand.  "Mr.  Berk  Matthews'  compliments,  Miss 
Ri,  an'  dese  yer  ducks,  Miss.  He  say  he  hopes 
yuh-alls  have  'em  fo'  suppah,  an'  he  be  'long  'bout 
seben  fo'  to  he'p  yuh-alls  eat  'em,"  the  last  with 
a  little  chuckle  of  pleasure  at  delivering  such  a  mes- 
sage. 

"Very  well,  Uncle  Moke,"  returned  Miss  Ri,  tak- 
ing the  ducks.  "Whether  I  have  them  for  supper 
or  not  is  my  look  out,  you  tell  Mr.  Berk." 

"Dey  nice  fat  ducks,"  remarked  Uncle  Moke  with 
the  privilege  of  an  old  acquaintance. 

"I  see  they  are." 

" Yuh  got  some  cu'ant  jelly,  is  yuh,  Miss  Ri  ?  Ef 
yuh  ain't  mah  ole  woman  got  a  little  she  kin  spare 
yuh." 

"I  know  Aunt  Welcome's  jelly  is  good,  Uncle 
Moke,  but  I  reckon  I  have  enough  for  some  time  to 
come.  How  is  your  wife?" 

"She  thes  tollable,  Miss  Ri." 

"And  you?" 

"I  thes  tollable.  I  has  mis'ry  in  mah  j'ints  f'om 
de  rheumatiz  dese  col'  days.  I  kin  skeerce  tote  de 
rale  heavy  trunks.  Dat  one  I  thes  now  taken  to 
Miss  Parthy's  fo'  de  strange  young  man  wa'n't  de 
heavy  kin'." 


160  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

"Did  you  take  a  trunk  to  Miss  Parthy's  for  Mr. 
Jeffreys  ?" 

"Yas'm.  Mr.  Berk  he  done  sont  it  f 'om  de  hotel. 
Little  weenchy  trunk,  kinder  old-fashion." 

"Um-hm,"  said  Miss  Ri,  nodding  her  head.  "So 
that's  done.  Have  you  good  warm  flannels,  Uncle 
Moke?"  Miss  Ri  looked  him  over,  perceiving  the 
shabbiness  of  his  attire,  ragged  shirt,  threadbare 
trousers. 

"I  ain't  had  time  to  buy  no  winter  flannins  yet, 
Miss  Ri,"  responded  the  old  man  with  a  pride  that 
forbade  giving  the  real  reason. 

"Well,  you  stop  by  to-morrow,"  said  Miss  Ri. 
"I  shouldn't  in  the  least  wonder  if  there  were  some 
things  in  the  house  that  you  could  wear,  and  there 
is  no  use  to  buy  anything  when  I'd  be  glad  to  get 
rid  of  some  underwear  that  I  have  on  hand." 

"Thanky,  ma'am,  thanky."  The  bowing  and 
scraping  were  continued  to  a  degree.  "I  sholy  is 
obleedged  to  yuh,  Miss  Ri.  It  save  me  a  lot  o' 
bother.  I  nuvver  was  no  han'  at  buyin'  flannins, 
and  Welky  she  don*  git  about  much." 

Miss  Ri  watched  him  stiffly  mount  his  creaking 
wagon  drawn  by  a  scrubby  mule,  then  she  went  in 
with  the  ducks.  "Well,"  she  announced,  "here  they 
are  at  last.  Don't  let  me  forget,  Verlinda,  to  hunt 
up  some  things  for  Uncle  Moke,  and  if  I  haven't 
anything  I  must  buy  some.  The  poor  old  soul 
hasn't  enough  to  keep  him  warm.  I  don't  suppose 


A  BRACE  OF  DUCKS  161 

he  makes  a  great  deal  these  days,  for  the  younger 
and  stronger  men  are  employed  where  he  used  to 
be.  He  is  not  able  to  carry  heavy  burdens.  By 
the  way,  the  trunk  seems  to  have  been  delivered,  too. 
Aren't  you  curious  to  hear  the  report.  Berk,  the 
impudent  boy,  sent  word  he  was  coming  over  to 
help  eat  the  ducks,  and  wouldn't  we  please  to  have 
them  for  supper  to-night.  Isn't  that  just  like  him  ? 
He  does  not  deserve  to  be  treated  decently  after 
the  way  he  has  neglected  us,  but  I  suppose  we  shall 
have  to  be  nice  to  him  as  long  as  he  has  sent  us 
the  ducks."  She  went  on  to  the  kitchen  to  see 
Phebe  about  supper  of  which  she  was  ready  enough 
to  make  a  true  feast. 

True  to  his  promise,  Berkley  arrived  promptly 
for  supper.  ''You  renegade/'  cried  Miss  Ri. 
"We  were  beginning  to  think  all  manner  of  evil 
about  you." 

" You  were?  I  didn't  expect  that  of  you.  What 
have  I  done?" 

"You  have  neglected  us  abominably." 

"It  does  look  that  way,  but  I  really  couldn't  help 
it.  I  had  a  tough  week  of  it  off  with  Judge  Baker, 
and  then  to  limber  up  my  brain  I  took  a  little  out- 
ing with  some  of  the  boys.  We  all  went  down  to 
John  Emory's  little  shack.  Didn't  I  send  you  the 
first  fruits  of  my  chase?  I  hope  Unc'  Moke  under- 
stood he  was  to  leave  the  ducks  here,  and  that  he 
didn't  take  them  to  Miss  Parthy's." 


162  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

"They  came  safely  enough,  and  our  thanks  are 
ready.  We  accept  your  excuses  since  they  seem 
moderately  reasonable,  don't  we,  Verlinda?" 

She  smiled  her  response  and  came  forward  to 
greet  the  young  man. 

"And  how  goes  the  school?  Does  the  verse- 
making  continue  ?"  he  asked  looking  down  with,  in- 
terest showing  in  his  eyes. 

"The  school  hasn't  finished  me  yet,  and  the 
verses/'  she  blushed  a  little,  "go  spasmodically.  I 
haven't  sent  out  any  more  effusions." 

"You  must  do  it.  Aren't  we  proud  of  her,  Miss 
Ri?  Oh,  did  you  hear  that  the  trunk  had  been 
found,  and  that  mine  was  the  great  mind  that 
happened  to  realize  its  value?" 

"It  was  accident,  pure  accident,"  cried  Miss  Ri. 
"Your  great  mind  had  nothing  to  do  with  it.  You 
have  sent  it  back  to  the  owner?" 

"Yes,  worse  luck.  I  wanted  to  keep  it  on  ac- 
count of  the  letters  upon  it.  Now  I  have  nothing 
to  cheer  me  in  my  despondent  moments.  It  was 
quite  a  fillip  to  my  ambitions  to  see  those  letters. 
I  don't  know  where  I  shall  get  another  mascot." 

"What  of  the  papers?"  asked  Linda. 

"Oh,  we  haven't  come  to  those  yet;  they  are  at 
my  office,  and  there  they  will  stay  till  Jeffreys 
and  I  can  look  them  over.  Ducks  ready?  Good! 
May  I  escort  you,  Miss  Ri.  Will  you  take  my 
other  arm,  Linda?"  They  marched  solemnly  to 


A  BRACE  OF  DUCKS  163 

the  dining-room.  For  some  reason  Berkley  was 
suddenly  subdued  and  was  so  long  in  taking  the 
initiative  in  the  carving  of  the  ducks  that  Miss  Ri 
spoke  up.  "Where  are  your  thoughts,  Berk?" 
Then  he  picked  up  the  wrong  knife  and  fork  in 
confusion  and  laughed  a  little  nervously. 

But  though  the  ducks  were  done  to  a  turn,  and 
everything  was  as  it  should  be,  Berkley  was  dis- 
trait and  ill  at  ease  all  the  evening,  though  he 
stayed  quite  as  late  as  usual  and  went  off  with  a 
jest. 

The  door  had  no  sooner  closed  behind  him  than 
Miss  Ri  turned  to  Linda  to  say.  "I  can't  think 
what  is  the  matter  with  Berk.  Did  it  strike  you 
that  he  was  embarrassed  and  unlike  himself." 

"I  did  think  so,  but  put  away  the  thought  as 
coming  from  my  own  vain  imaginings.  What  do 
you  suppose  is  the  matter?" 

"I  should  say  it  was  one  of  two  things;  either 
he  is  in  love  or  there  is  something  in  those  papers 
that  is  bothering  him.  I  wonder  if,  after  all,  it  was 
his  mother  whom  he  was  so  eager  to  see  in  the 
city.  I'm  beginning  to  get  suspicious." 

"But  about  the  papers ;  what  could  be  in  them  ?" 

"That  is  just  what  I  don't  know,  but  I'm  going 
to  find  out.  I  have  a  deal  of  thinking  to  do,  Ver- 
linda,  my  dear.  Go  to  bed  and  let  me  puzzle  out 
a  few  things.  Berk  said  he  had  seen  Grace  Tal- 
bot,  didn't  he  ?"  Linda  paused,  her  foot  on  the  stair. 


164  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

"Yes,  he  spoke  of  her,  said  she  was  looking  un- 
usually well."  Then  a  little  laugh  rippled  out. 
"You  don't  imagine  he  has  fallen  in  love  with  Grace, 
do  you?" 

"Some  men  are  fools  enough  to  do  anything," 
returned  Miss  Ri  crossly. 

"Then,  of  course,  you  don't  get  mad  with  such," 
vouchsafed  Linda.  Then  she  turned,  a  slim  grace- 
ful figure  in  trailing  black,  and  came  swiftly  up 
to  Miss  Ri.  "You  dear  old  thing,"  she  said,  "you 
mustn't  get  notions  in  your  head  like  that;  it  doesn't 
make  any  difference ;  nothing  makes  very  much  dif- 
ference. Suppose  he  should  marry  Grace,  then  I'd 
have  Talbot's  Angles." 

"And  I'd  lose  you,"  returned  Miss  Ri  ruefully. 
"Are  you  sleepy?  No?  Come  in  then,  and  let's 
talk  over  people  and  things." 

"Let's  leave  out  Berkley  and  Grace." 

"Very  well,  we'll  talk  of  your  new  cousin.  By 
the  way,  if  Berk  has  examined  those  papers  he 
must  know  the  relationship.  Possibly  that  is  just 
what  is  the  matter." 

"I  don't  think  so,  besides,  I  had  the  impression 
that  he  had  not  looked  at  them.  But  we  weren't 
going  to  talk  of  Berk,  you  know.  Tell  me  plainly, 
what  do  you  think  of  my  new  cousin  ?" 

"I  think  he  is  an  out  and  out  Yankee.  Clever 
enough  in  some  directions,  rather  whimsical,  deadly 
afraid  you  will  find  out  what  he  is  thinking  about, 


YOU  DON  T  IMAGINE  HE  HAS  FALLEN  IN  LOVE  WITH 
GRACE,    DO    YOU?  " 


A  BRACE  OF  DUCKS  165 

frightfully  cautious  of  showing  his  feelings,  with 
a  conscience  which  worries  him  because  his  inclina- 
tion isn't  always  to  follow  it  exactly,  wherein  he 
differs  from  another  who  follows  his  impulses,  and 
whose  impulses  are  always  generous  ones.  Your 
Mr.  Jeffreys  sits  down  and  pros  and  cons  for  hours. 
Someone,  whose  name  we  don't  mention,  plunges 
out,  impelled  by  an  unselfish  motive,  and  does  the 
thing  that  the  other  deliberates  over.  Yet  I  won't 
say  the  cousin  doesn't  do  fine  honorable  things  once 
he  makes  up  his  mind  it  is  right.  Very  likely  he 
rises  to  his  heights  by  a  different  process,  and 
doesn't  ever  make  the  mistake  of  over  zeal,  of  go- 
ing at  too  brisk  a  pace  like  the  unmentioned  some- 
times does.  What  the  latter  does  is  with  his  whole 
heart.  I  think  he  might  almost  perjure  himself  for 
one  he  loved;  I  know  he  would  cheerfully  die  in 
the  same  cause." 

Linda,  leaning  with  elbows  on  table,  thought- 
fully tapped  one  hand  with  an  ivory  paper-cutter. 
"You  are  analytical,  Aunt  Ri,  but  probably  you  are 
right.  Yet,  after  all  if  a  man,  through  evolutions 
of  reasoning,  reaches  a  point  where  his  conscience 
bids  him  do  a  noble  deed,  isn't  he  just  as  much  to 
be  approved  as  he  who  rushes  out,  never  asking  for 
reasons,  and  does  a  like  noble  thing?  And  isn't 
he  more  to  be  approved  than  the  man  who  sacri- 
fices his  integrity,  or  does  a  wrong  thing  for  love's 
sake?" 


166  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

"Oh,  yes,  I  don't  doubt  it  though  it  depends 
largely  upon  one's  view  of  the  case.  For  my  part 
I  admire  the  spontaneous,  intrepid  man  more  than 
the  deliberate  one,  but  that  is  a  matter  of  prefer- 
ence." 

"Which  do  you  think  would  be  the  easier  to  live 
with?"  Linda  balanced  the  paper-cutter  on  the  tips 
of  her  fingers.  "Wouldn't  the  impetuous  man  be 
more  difficult,  more  trying,  for  the  very  reason  of 
his  impetuosity?" 

"Yes,  but  he'd  be  vastly  more  entertaining,  to  my 
mind,  because  $)f  his  uncertainty." 

"In  perjuring  himself,  for  example?" 

"Oh,  we  needn't  go  so  far  as  that,  Verlinda. 
A  really  good  man  would  never  go  so  far  un- 
less—" 

"Unless?" 

"He  felt  the  cause  for  which  he  criminated  him- 
self was  a  greater  thing  than  his  own  state  of  well- 
being.  I  can  imagine  certain  men  who  would  sacri- 
fice their  immortal  welfare  for  the  sake  of  a  sacred 
cause." 

"And  you  think  Berkley  Matthews  is  like  that?" 

"No,  I  don't  say  so  ?  I  won't  go  so  far  in  my  esti- 
mate of  him,  though  I  do  say  there  are  few  things 
he  wouldn't  do  for  one  he  loved.  But  you  remem- 
ber we  were  not  to  mention  him." 

"We  don't  appear  to  be  doing  much  else.  We 
are  comparing  him  all  the  time  with  Mr.  Jeffreys 


A  BRACE  OF  DUCKS  167 

whether  we  mention  his  name  or  not.  I  agree  with 
you  in  thinking  Berk  is  capable  of  fine  things,  but 
so  I  believe  is  Mr.  Jeffreys." 

"Berk  has  the  tenderest  of  hearts,"  continued 
Miss  Ri,  "and  he  has  thoughtful  little  ways  that 
please  an  elderly  woman  like  myself.  I  could  but 
notice  the  difference  when  I  was  walking  with  Mr. 
Jeffreys.  Did  he  help  me  over  a  gutter,  or  up  a 
steep  curb?  Not  he.  Not  that  I  wanted  help,  but 
it  was  the  outward  and  visible  sign  of  an  inward  and 
spiritual  grace  that  I  missed.  Berk  watches  out 
for  your  every  step,  makes  way  for  you,  as  it  were. 
If  he  wore  a  Sir  Walter  Raleigh  cloak  it  would 
be  mud  from  end  to  end  so  readily  would  he  spread 
it  for  a  woman's  feet  to  tread  on.  He  may  not 
have  the  tall  and  graceful  figure  of  your  cousin, 
but  he  can  bow  like  a  courtier,  and  will  stand  with 
his  head  uncovered  in  any  weather  rather  than 
wear  his  hat  in  a  lady's  presence." 

"I  have  noticed  all  those  things,"  admitted  Linda. 
"So  far,  in  your  opinion,  his  side  of  the  scales  tip 
far,  far  below  my  cousin's,  but  then  one  must  make 
allowances  for  your  partiality.  You've  known 
Berk  since  he  was  born.  Perhaps  Mr.  Jeffreys' 
mother  may  have  had  just  so  good  an  opinion  of 
him." 

"Being  his  mother  she  probably  had.  What 
have  you  to  put  in  his  side  of  the  scales?" 

"Oh,  good  looks,  a  very  dignified  bearing,  and  a 


i68  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

perfectly  well-trained  conscience  which  wouldn't 
run  away  with  him." 

"You  know  I  don't  call  that  so  desirable  a 
quality  as  the  impulsive  generosity." 

"But  I  do,  so  if  you  leave  your  impulsive  gener- 
osity in  the  scales,  I  must  have  the  well-trained 
conscience." 

"Very  well.     Go  on." 

"Then,  there's  your  mud-spattered  cloak  which  I 
will  balance  with — let  me  see — " 

"You  can't  find  anything  to  equal  that,"  cried 
Miss  Ri  triumphantly. 

"Oh,  yes,  I  can.  There  is  a  certain  beautiful 
dignity  and  a  certain  indescribable  charm;  I  don't 
know  exactly  wherein  it  lies,  but  it  is  there. 
Bertie  Bryan  has  discovered  it,  too,  and  very  prob- 
ably it  has  not  escaped  you." 

"I  don't  see  it  at  all." 

"There  we  are  again,  so  you  will  have  to  take 
the  courtesy  and  I'll  have  the  dignity  and  charm. 
I  haven't  a  doubt  but  if  we  knew  Mr.  Jeffreys  bet- 
ter we  should  find  a  host  of  other  things." 

"He  is  not  sympathetic  in  the  way  Berk  is." 

The  paper-cutter  was  at  work  again.  "No-o," 
Linda  admitted,  "he  doesn't  seem  to  be,  but  per- 
haps he  really  is,  inside." 

"Then  I  don't  see  what  use  it  is  to  anyone.  Berk 
shows  that  quality  in  his  eyes.  He  has  dear  eyes, 
I  think." 


A  BRACE  OF  DUCKS  169 

Linda  neither  affirmed  nor  denied  though  she 
suddenly  remembered  the  eager,  tender  look  be- 
stowed upon  her  that  day  in  the  postoffice  when  she 
gave  back  the  newspaper  after  reading  her  little 
poem  in  it.  "We  certainly  have  discussed  those 
two  long  enough/'  she  said  lightly.  "How  their 
ears  must  burn.  What  next,  Aunt  Ri  ?" 

"I've  been  thinking  I'd  like  to  get  some  facts  for 
you  from  some  other  source  than  Wyatt  Jeffreys. 
There's  our  old  family  lawyer,  Judge  Goldsborough, 
who  was  your  family's  lawyer  as  well.  He  re- 
tired from  active  life  long  ago,  and  is  a  very  old 
man  now,  but  I  believe  he  could  tell  us  things.  He 
knew  your  grandfather  and  all  that.  Some  day 
we  will  go  to  see  him.  We'll  make  it  an  ancestral 
pilgrimage.  He  lives  up  in  the  next  county  where 
his  son  has  a  fine  estate.  On  the  way  we  can  take 
in  that  old  church  where  my  grandparents  were 
married;  they  were  Roman  Catholics,  you  see,  and 
I  have  always  wanted  to  see  that  old  church.  How 
do  you  like  the  idea  of  such  a  trip  ?" 

"Immensely.  You  are  very  clever  to  have 
thought  of  it,  Aunt  Ri." 

"Then  some  Saturday  we  will  go.  The  judge 
will  be  delighted  to  see  you,  and  me,  too,  I  am 
not  too  modest  to  say.  He  is  a  dear  old  man  and, 
though  his  memory  is  not  what  it  was,  the  way  back 
things  are  those  he  remembers  the  best.  Now  go 
to  bed.  We've  talked  long  enough.  Go  to  bed." 


CHAPTER  XIII 

AN    ANCESTRAL    PILGRIMAGE 

Miss  Ri  was  not  one  to  be  dilatory  when  an  idea 
once  took  possession  of  her,  and  she  therefore  be- 
gan planning  at  once  for  the  trip  to  "Mary's  De- 
light," where  Judge  Goldsborough  lived.  It  was  a 
roundabout  journey  involving  several  changes,  if 
one  went  all  the  way  by  rail  to  the  nearest  station, 
but  was  not  nearly  so  far  if  one  drove  from  Sand- 
bridge  to  the  point  where  a  train  could  be  had  which 
would  go  direct  to  the  little  village  of  Mackenzie. 
Miss  Ri  finally  decided  upon  the  latter  course,  nat- 
urally choosing  a  Saturday  as  being  the  day  when 
Linda  could  most  easily  leave.  It  was  not  a  matter 
to  be  made  secret,  and  Berkley  was  consulted  as 
to  the  best  method  of  getting  to  the  desired  point. 

"You'd  better  take  the  train  from  Boxford  to 
Mackenzie,"  he  told  them.  "Of  course  you  must 
drive  from  here  to  Boxford,  and  you  would  better 
send  word  ahead  to  Mackenzie  to  have  some  sort 
of  vehicle  ready  for  you  there  to  take  you  to  'Mary's 
Delight,'  unless  you  prefer  to  let  the  Goldsboroughs 
know  you  are  coming." 

Miss  Ri  shook  her  head.  "I  think  I'll  let  that 

170 


AN  ANCESTRAL  PILGRIMAGE       171 

go,  and  trust  to  luck,  for  it  might  be  a  bad  day 
which  would  prevent  our  going,  and  I  don't  want 
them  to  make  preparations,  as  they  might  do;  be- 
sides we  want  to  stop  at  the  old  church,  and  I 
should  prefer  a  hired  team  if  we  are  to  do  that." 

"Very  well,  then,  suppose  I  drop  a  line  to  Macken- 
zie, to  the  postmaster  there,  he  knows  me,  and  I'll 
tell  him  two  ladies  are  coming  from  Sandbridge. 
He  will  do  all  he  can  for  you.  You  can  go  right 
to  the  postoffice,  and  then  it  will  be  plain  sail- 
ing." 

"You  are  a  good  thoughtful  boy,  Berk,  to  smooth 
our  way  so  nicely,"  Miss  Ri  told  him.  "By  the 
way/'  she  added,  "aren't  you  feeling  well  these 
days?  You  seem  so  serious.  Anything  wrong?" 

The  young  man  flushed  up  and  turned  over  some 
papers  on  his  desk.  They  were  in  his  office  where 
Miss  Ri  had  stopped  to  consult  him.  "I'm  all 
right,"  he  replied  in  reply.  "Working  a  little 
hard,  maybe.  I  must,  you  know,  if  I  want  to  get 
ahead." 

"And  that  is  why  you  don't  drop  in  so  often," 
returned  Miss  Ri.  Then  after  waiting  a  moment 
for  the  answer  which  did  not  come,  she  went  on. 
"Well,  you  know  you  are  always  welcome,  Berk. 
I  may  bamboozle  you,  but  you  know  it  is  all  talk. 
Come  when  you  can  and  thank  you  very  much  for 
straightening  out  this  route.  I  did  not  want  to  go 
around  the  other  way  and  be  all  day  getting  there, 


172  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

spending  half  the  time  waiting  at  stations  to  make 
connections." 

"I  find  the  most  direct  way  is  generally  the  best," 
he  told  her.  "When  you  want  to  go  across  coun- 
try you'd  better  drive  instead  of  depending  upon 
trains.  Good  luck  to  you,  Miss  Ri."  And  he 
turned  to  his  desk  as  she  went  out. 

Saturday  furnished  all  that  anyone  could  ask  in 
the  way  of  weather.  It  was  almost  too  warm  for 
the  season,  and  a  few  clouds  piled  up  in  the  west, 
but  it  could  not  be  a  finer  day,  as  everyone  declared 
with  satisfaction,  and  the  two  travellers  sat  down 
to  their  morning  meal  in  happy  anticipation  of  what 
was  before  them. 

"We're  going  to  have  a  lovely  time,  Verlinda,"  re- 
marked Miss  Ri.  "The  judge  will  have  some  good 
tales  for  us,  I  know.  I  am  sure  he  will  be  interested 
to  know  you  are  a  great-niece  of  the  Verlinda 
Talbot  he  used  to  know,  and,  if  report  speaks  the 
truth,  with  whom  he  was  much  in  love,  but  like  the 
gallant  gentleman  he  was,  when  she  married  some- 
one else  he  made  no  sign  though  he  was  hard  hit, 
and  he  was  always  a  devoted  friend  to  her  and  to 
your  grandfather.  His  son  Dick  isn't  unlike  him. 
He  has  a  nice  wife  and  half  a  dozen  children,  some 
or  whom  are  grown  up  by  now."  She  was  silent 
for  a  little  while  and  then  she  said,  with  half  a 
laugh  and  half  a  sigh,  "I  didn't  expect  to  be  visiting 
Dick  Goldsborough's  house  in  my  old  age." 


AN  ANCESTRAL  PILGRIMAGE       173 

Linda  looked  up  from  the  coffee  she  was  sipping. 
"That  sounds  very  much  as  if  there  were  a  story,  a 
romance  hidden  in  your  remark." 

Miss  Ri  gave  a  little  comfortable  laugh.  "Well, 
there  was  something  like  it  once." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Ri,  and  you  never  told  me.  Were  you 
— were  you  engaged  to  Mr.  Dick  Goldsborough  ?" 

"No-o.  You  see  there  were  two  of  us,  Julia 
Emory  and  I,  and  it  seemed  hard  for  him  to  make 
up  his  mind  which  he  liked  best — but  finally — he 
did." 

"Oh,  dear  Aunt  Ri!  And  he  married  the  other 
girl  ?  Did  it — were  you— 

"Oh,  yes,  I  was  dreadfully  cut  up  for  a  time,  I 
can  frankly  say.  The  first  year  I  thought  I'd  die 
and  wanted  to;  the  second  I  was  not  averse  to  liv- 
ing, though  in  a  sort  of  twilight  world ;  the  third  I 
was  quite  glad  to  live ;  the  fourth  I  wondered  how  I 
could  ever  have  been  such  a  sentimental  goose,  and 
the  fifth  I  thanked  the  Lord  that  I  had  escaped." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Ri,  Aunt  Ri,  you  are  dreadful." 

"It  is  a  fact,  I  can  assure  you,  and  I  have  been 
thankful  ever  since,  not  that  Dick  isn't  a  fine  man, 
for  he  is,  but,  dear  me,  he  would  never  have  suited 
me,  as  I  came  to  find  out,  and  he  suits  Julia  to  a  T. 
They  are  as  happy  as  two  clams  at  high  tide." 

"Then  that  is  why  you  never  married." 

"It  probably  had  something  to  do  with  it,  for 
during  the  two  or  three  years  when  I  was  wearing 


174  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

the  willow  came  other  chances  which  I  didn't  take, 
and  when  I  had  reached  the  stage  of  thanking-  the 
Lord  for  my  escape  my  patient  suitors  had  become 
impatient  and  had  danced  off  to  those  who,  in  their 
opinions,  had  better  taste.  But,  Verlinda,  bear  this 
truth  in  mind ;  I  am  still  thanking  the  Lord.  Come, 
if  you  have  finished  we'll  be  off.  I  see  Nichols  has 
sent  around  the  man  with  the  surrey;  he  is  waiting 
outside." 

The  ride  to  Boxford  over  level  shell  roads  would 
have  been  pleasant  enough  with  a  less  companiona- 
ble person  than  Miss  Ri,  but  she  who  knew  every 
house  along  the  way  had  innumerable  stories  to  tell, 
humorous,  pathetic,  romantic,  and  the  time  seemed 
very  short  before  they  reached  the  station  from 
which  they  were  to  start  on  the  second  and  more 
commonplace  stage  of  their  journey  which  ended  at 
Mackenzie.  This  was  a  small  settlement  which  ap- 
peared to  consist  of  the  station,  a  country  store,  and 
a  few  houses  straggling  along  an  unpaved  street 
which  stretched  out  into  the  country  road,  leading 
on  and  on  indefinitely.  There  were  few  people  in 
sight ;  a  half  dozen  darkies  lounged  around  the  sta- 
tion, inside  which  the  telegraph  operator  clicked 
away  at  his  transmitter  industriously,  some  children 
played  in  the  street  further  up,  but  no  one  else  was 
to  be  seen. 

"Where  do  you  suppose  the  postoffice  is?"  asked 
Miss  Ri,  looking  around. 


AN  ANCESTRAL  PILGRIMAGE       175 

"At  the  store  in  all  probability,"  replied  Linda. 

"We'll  go  over  and  see." 

But,  contrary  to  their  expectation,  they  found  the 
postoffice  was  not  there  but  at  the  second  house  up 
the  street.  They  could  read  the  sign  outside,  they 
were  told. 

Its  location  known,  the  place  was  easy  enough  to 
find ;  a  small  white  house,  like  any  other  of  its  type. 
The  door  was  ajar  and  the  travellers  entered  to  find 
themselves  in  a  square  enclosure,  a  door  to  their 
left,  and  in  front  of  them  a  box-like  structure  with 
a  sort  of  window  cut  in  it  Before  the  window 
hung  a  calico  curtain.  From  behind  this  curtain 
presently  appeared  the  head  of  a  man. 

"Good  morning,  ladies,"  the  voice  came  with 
pleasant  eagerness;  "you're  the  ladies  from  Sand- 
bridge?  Mr.  Matthews  wrote  to  me  about  you. 
Will  you  just  walk  into  the  front  room  there,  and 
take  seats  while  I  am  sorting  the  mail.  I'll  be  with 
you  as  soon  as  it  is  distributed." 

Linda  opened  the  only  door  in  sight,  and  the  two 
entered  a  plainly  furnished  room,  which,  however, 
provided  two  comfortable  chairs,  and  in  these  they 
seated  themselves  to  wait  the  postmaster's  leisure. 

They  were  mistaken  if  they  thought  their  arrival 
was  the  unimportant  matter  it  would  seem  to  be, 
for,  as  the  villagers  began  to  come  in,  each  made 
some  excuse  to  enter  the  room,  the  first  leaving  the 
door  ajar  so  the  visitors  could  distinctly  hear  the 


176  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

postmaster,  as  he  handed  out  the  mail,  importantly 
informing  his  friends:  "The  ladies  from  Sand- 
bridge  have  come."  So  one  after  another  made 
some  pretext  for  seeing  the  strangers.  "Where  can 
I  get  a  match?"  one  would  inquire.  "Oh,  I've 
opened  the  wrong  door,"  the  next  would  say,  while 
the  third  showed  his  ardent  curiosity  simply  and 
honestly  by  merely  standing  in  the  doorway  and 
beaming  on  the  two  ladies.  Once  or  twice  a  saluta- 
tion was  offered,  though  more  often  it  was  not. 

The  finale  occurred  when  two  little  girls,  with 
hair  slicked  tightly  back  and  braided  in  flaxen  pig- 
tails, appeared,  each  holding  the  hand  of  a  little  boy 
with  as  shining  a  face  as  her  own.  Each  little  girl 
grasped  a  large  red  apple,  in  one  hand,  taking  fre- 
quent succulent  bites  as  she  stared  with  round 
china-blue  eyes  at  the  strangers.  The  little  roly- 
poly  boy  stared  quite  as  fixedly,  but  at  the  first  ques- 
tion addressed,  the  three  fled,  though  Miss  Ri  and 
Linda  could  hear  them  shrilly  reporting  their  expe- 
riences to  someone  in  the  next  room. 

In  due  time  the  postmaster  appeared.  "You 
wanted  a  fix,  ladies,  I  believe.  I  meant  to  have 
gotten  Jo  Wilson's,  but  he's  gone  to  his  wife's 
brother's  funeral.  Maybe  I  can  get  Tom  Skinner's ; 
I'll  see.  I  reckon  a  buggy  will  do,  and  you  can 
drive  yourselves.  Going  to  the  old  church,  I 
hear." 

"I  don't  think  we  can  drive,"  spoke  up  Miss  Ri. 


AN  ANCESTRAL  PILGRIMAGE       177 

"We  don't  know  the  road,  in  the  first  place,  and  in 
the  second  I  don't  care  to  drive  a  strange  horse." 

The  man  looked  quite  taken  aback;  he  had  not 
counted  on  these  complications.  "Now,  that's  too 
bad,"  he  said.  "I  just  depended  on  Jo,  you  see,  but 
funerals  won't  wait.  I'll  look  around  and  find  out 
what  we  can  do."  He  departed,  leaving  the  two  to 
be  peeped  at  over  the  window-sill  by  three  pairs  of 
china-blue  eyes.  Evidently  the  children's  curiosity 
was  not  yet  satisfied. 

"I  feel  as  if  I  belonged  to  a  menagerie,"  laughed 
Linda,  "and  as  if  they'd  be  feeding  me  peanuts 
next." 

Miss  Ri  laughed  and  beckoned  to  the  children 
who  incontinently  took  to  their  heels. 

After  some  time  the  postmaster  returned  saying 
he  had  been  able  to  get  a  buggy  and  a  boy  to  drive  it. 
He  hoped  the  ladies  wouldn't  mind  sitting  three  on 
a  seat ;  the  boy  wasn't  so  very  big.  It  was  the  best 
he  could  do;  he  hoped  they  would  be  comfortable 
and  if  it  hadn't  been  for  Jo  Wilson's  wife's  brother 
all  would  have  been  well. 

If  Linda  had  been  of  Miss  Ri's  proportions  they 
would  have  found  it  a  tight  squeeze,  but  the  boy,  as 
reported,  was  not  very  big,  and  they  assured  the 
postmaster  that  they  could  manage.  The  lad  evi- 
dently had  been  gathered  in  hastily  from  the  fields 
to  don  his  Sunday  best,  and  to  make  such  ablutions 
as  consisted  in  clearing  a  circular  expanse  in  the 


178  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

center  of  his  face,  and  then  wiping  his  wet  hands 
on  his  hair  which  was  still  moist  from  the  applica- 
tion. With  many  charges  to  the  boy  and  with 
many  anxious  queries  as  to  the  comfort  of  the 
strangers,  the  postmaster  at  last  sped  them  on  their 
way,  and  before  many  miles  were  covered  the  old 
church  appeared  dully  through  the  trees.  It  had 
a  decayed,  unkempt  aspect  even  at  a  distance,  and  a 
nearer  view  showed  it  set  amidst  riots  of  thorny 
bushes,  and  old  trees,  which  had  never  been 
trimmed. 

In  what  probably  had  been  the  priest's  quarters 
in  bygone  days,  they  found  an  old  woman  who  lived 
there  as  care-taker.  She  hobbled  to  the  door  to 
open  to  their  knock,  showing  one  foot  swathed  in 
bandages.  She  was  as  unkempt  as  the  rest  of  it, 
but  was  both  surprised  and  pleased  to  see  visitors, 
and  was  ready  to  display  to  them  remnants  of  taw- 
dry hangings,  shrines  from  which  the  paint  was 
scaling,  and  in  the  dingy  church,  a  company  of 
dusty  saints  who  looked  out  dimly  from  altar  and 
niche,  bedecked  with  once  garish  but  now  faded  and 
discolored  artificial  flowers.  Miss  Ri  gazed  around 
with  an  expression  half  contemptuous,  half  pitying. 
"And  this  is  where  my  grandparents  worshipped. 
Poor  dears,  I  hope  it  was  better  in  their  day." 

"Oh,  it  was  a  fine  church  once,"  spoke  up  their 
guide,  "but  very  few  comes  to  it  now,  and  there's  a 
service  only  once  a  month." 


AN  ANCESTRAL  PILGRIMAGE       179 

They  were  glad  to  escape  out  into  the  sunlight. 
The  old  woman  led  the  way  back  to  her  own  quar- 
ters, discoursing  all  the  time  upon  her  ailments  and 
asking  for  remedies.  Being  thirsty  after  the  drive 
Linda  begged  for  a  glass  of  water,  but  when  a  brass 
thimble  was  fished  out  of  a  murky  tumbler  before 
it  was  filled,  she  concluded  that  nothing  would 
induce  her  to  drink  it,  and  finally  she  made  the 
excuse  of  speaking  to  the  boy  outside,  when  she 
found  an  opportunity  of  emptying  the  glass  upon 
the  grass. 

This  turning  aside  to  visit  the  church  had  occu- 
pied some  time,  and  it  was  noon  when  they  reached 
"Mary's  Delight,"  a  beautiful  old  place  bordering 
upon  one  of  the  many  salt  rivers  which  pierce  Mary- 
land's eastern  shore.  A  tall,  grey-haired  man  met 
them  at  the  gate  to  open  to  them.  "Howdy,  Dick 
Goldsborough,"  cried  Miss  Ri. 

"Of  all  things,  Maria  Hill/'  he  responded.  "Get 
right  out.  Well,  this  is  a  surprise.  This  your 
niece  ?  " 

"An  adopted  one.  This  is  Betty  Dorsey's  daugh- 
ter, Verlinda  Talbot." 

"Is  that  so?  You  are  doubly  welcome,  Miss 
Talbot,  for  your  father's  as  well  as  your  mother's 
sake.  I  declare,  Maria,  this  does  take  me  back  to 
old  times.  Come  right  in  and  I'll  see  about  your 
horse.  Where  did  you  drive  from?" 

"We  came  up  from  Mackenzie.     I  wanted  to  see 


i8o  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

the  old  church,  and  the  little  boy  has  been  our 
driver." 

"Well,  we  can  send  him  back  and  you  shall  re- 
turn in  a  more  comfortable  way  when  you  are  ready 
to  go.  The  boy  must  have  some  dinner.  Just 
drive  around  to  the  stable,  my  boy,  and  one  of  the 
men  will  fix  you  up.  You  are  going  to  make  us  a 
good  visit,  I  hope,  Maria.  Father  will  be  per- 
fectly charmed  to  see  you,  and  so  will  Julia.'* 

They  were  ushered  into  a  fine  hall  with  a  noble 
staircase  rising  on  either  side  to  the  floor  above. 
On  one  side  the  hall  was  a  large  room  with  a  great 
fireplace  now  filled  with  crackling  logs,  in  spite  of 
the  mildness  of  the  day.  Before  the  fire  sat  an  old 
white-haired  man  who  rose  at  the  entrance  of 
visitors. 

"Here's  a  surprise  for  you,  Father,"  said  the 
younger  man,  raising  his  voice  slightly.  "Here  is 
an  old  friend  and  the  daughter  of  another.  Miss 
Ri  Hill  and  Jim  Talbot's  daughter  have  come  to  see 


us." 


The  old  gentleman's  fine  face  brightened  as  he 
held  out  a  slender  frail  hand.  "My  dears,  I  am  de- 
lighted, pleased  beyond  measure  to  see  you.  Won't 
you  come  to  the  fire  after  your  drive?" 

"It  is  very  mild  out,  Judge;  we  won't  come  too 
near,"  Miss  Ri  told  him. 

He  waited  till  they  were  seated  and  then  took  his 
old  place,  looking  at  first  one  then  the  other.  Linda 


AN  ANCESTRAL  PILGRIMAGE      181 

thought  him  charming  with  a  nobly  intellectual 
head,  hair  white  and  fine  as  floss,  waving  thickly 
around  a  face  full  of  strength  and  sweetness,  eyes 
both  wise  and  kind,  still  showing  brilliancy.  The 
rather  high  and  prominent  nose  was  saved  from 
coarseness  by  delicate  nostrils,  the  mouth  had  not 
lost  its  shapeliness  nor  the  chin  its  firmness. 

Before  Linda  had  time  for  many  words  with  the 
judge  Mrs.  Goldsborough  entered  to  welcome  them 
warmly  and  to  carry  them  upstairs  to  lay  aside  their 
wraps.  A  white-curtained  room  exhibiting  the 
beauty  lent  by  handsome  old  furniture  and  exquisite 
neatness  was  placed  at  their  disposal.  The  win- 
dows on  one  side  looked  out  on  the  river,  on  the 
other  was  obtained  a  view  of  fields  and  garden.  A 
little  negro  boy  chasing  chickens  was  the  liveliest 
object  in  sight.  It  was  quite  necessary  that 
chickens  be  caught  for  a  company  dinner,  as  Linda 
well  knew. 

The  children  were  all  at  school,  Mrs.  Golds- 
borough  told  them,  all  but  the  eldest  daughter  who 
was  in  Baltimore  where  an  aunt  would  chaperon 
her  in  this  her  debutante  season.  The  younger 
children  had  a  governess  at  home,  the  two  older 
boys  were  at  St.  John's  in  Annapolis.  Mrs.  Golds- 
borough,  a  very  neat,  still  rather  pretty  woman,  was 
graciousness  itself,  and  would  fain  have  carried 
Miss  Ri  off  for  a  long  talk,  but  that  she  must  be 
down-stairs  to  oversee  the  rather  inefficient  servants 


1 82  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

which  the  country  supplied.     So  the  visitors  were 
handed  over  to  the  judge  and  his  son. 

Miss  Ri  was  not  long  in  bringing  the  conversa- 
tion around  to  where  she  wanted  it,  and  began  her 
queries  on  the  subject  of  the  Talbot  estates,  giving 
the  judge  her  reasons  for  asking.  With  the  intri- 
cacies of  a  conjectural  case  in  view  the  judge  threw 
up  his  head  like  an  old  war  horse  and  declared  his 
opinion.  "Any  flaw  in  the  title  to  Jim  Talbot's  prop- 
erty? Of  course  not.  He  was  the  eldest  son  as  his 
father  and  grandfather  were  before  him.  The 
home  plantation  was  always  left  to  the  eldest  son. 
Madison  Talbot  bought  Addition  from  his  brother 
Cyrus  when  he  went  west,  I  am  sure  of  that.  Tal- 
bot's Addition  was  what  Cyrus  inherited  from  his 
father,  while  Madison  had  the  Angles.  Oh,  I  can't 
make  any  mistake  there.  Anyone  who  claims  the 
Angles  can't  have  a  shred  of  proof.  I've  a  lot  of 
papers  somewhere ;  I'll  get  them  out,  Maria,  and  you 
shall  hear  from  me.  Dick,  don't  let  me  forget  that. 
I  think  the  papers  are  in  the  old  secretary  in  my 
office,  but  I  am  not  sure;  they  may  have  been 
moved.  Who  is  this  young  man,  Maria,  who  says 
he  is  the  great  grandson  of  Cyrus  Talbot  ?  Let  me 
see.  Hm !"  He  put  the  tips  of  his  delicate  fingers 
together  and  bent  his  gaze  on  the  fire.  "Cyrus  had 
a  son  who  was  killed  in  the  War  of  1812,  I  remem- 
ber that,  but  this  son  was  unmarried.  There  was 
a  daughter  who  went  away  with  him." 


AN  ANCESTRAL  PILGRIMAGE       183 

V 

"Lovina,  wasn't  it?" 

"Yes,  that  was  the  name.  I  remember  all  that. 
You  can't  get  me  confused  when  it  comes  to  those 
old  matters,  Maria;  it  is  what  happened  yesterday 
that  I  forget.  I'll  look  up  those  papers,  however, 
and  we  will  see  if  there  is  any  sort  of  complication. 
Dinner,  did  you  say,  Julia?  Maria,  allow  me.  Dick, 
will  you  take  out  Miss  Talbot  ?"  And  in  this  stately 
and  formal  manner  they  were  conducted  to  the 
dining-room  where  was  spread  such  a  meal  as  one 
rarely  sees  except  in  just  such  a  house  in  just  such 
a  locality.  A  great  platter  of  fried  chicken  stood 
at  one  end  of  the  table,  a  home-cured  ham  at  the 
other,  oysters,  numerous  vegetables  smothered  in 
rich  cream,  homemade  jellies,  pickles  and  sauces, 
the  ever-present  beaten  biscuits,  corn  bread,  wheat 
bread,  all  were  there,  and  at  the  last  a  dainty  des- 
sert served  with  thick  cream  and  pound  cake. 

The  judge  entertained  them  with  many  a  tale  of 
the  days  when  he  was  young,  when  Martin  Talbot, 
Senior,  and  he  were  chums,  when  old  Admiral  Hill 
used  to  sail  over  to  Sandbridge  from  Annapolis  to 
spend  a  holiday  in  his  old  home  and  to  stir  the  boys' 
young  blood  with  his  sea  stories. 

It  was  after  dinner  that  Miss  Ri  had  a  chance  to 
talk  to  the  old  man  in  confidence  and  to  tell  him  of 
Linda's  misfortunes  while  he  frowned  and  shook 
his  head  and  spoke  of  men  who  disgraced  them- 
selves and  their  families  by  marrying  beneath  them. 


184  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

and  at  last  he  became  so  scornful  of  "John  Blair's 
people,"  that  Miss  Ri  was  glad  Linda  was  not  at 
hand  to  hear.  She  was  with  the  children  and  their 
pretty  young  governess  out  in  the  little  school-house 
where  the  day's  lessons  were  had,  and  it  was  only 
when  she  was  sent  for  that  she  realized  how  happy 
a  time  she  was  having. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

TWO   BUGGIES 

It  was  with  difficulty  that  the  two  visitors  were 
able  to  take  their  leave  that  afternoon,  and  only  the 
promise  to  come  again  and  stay  longer  gave  them 
liberty  to  go  without  hurting  the  feelings  of  these 
old  friends.  The  little  lad  from  Mackenzie  had 
been  dismissed  long  before,  and  it  was  Mr.  Dick 
Goldsborough  himself  who  insisted  upon  setting 
them  upon  their  way.  The  dear  old  judge  stood  on 
the  porch  to  wave  a  last  farewell  and  to  repeat  his 
promise  to  look  into  the  matter  of  Talbot  planta- 
tions. 

Linda  wondered  how  it  must  seem  to  Miss  Ri  to 
be  driving  behind  the  horses  of  her  former  lover, 
himself  holding  the  reins.  She  tried  to  place  her- 
self in  a  like  position  but  when  she  attempted  to 
replace  Mr.  Goldsborough  in  her  mind  with  some 
other,  two  quite  different  persons  would  appear,  and 
she  could  decide  on  neither. 

Instead  of  going  around  by  the  old  church  they 
took  the  shorter  way  to  the  village  which  brought 
them  to  the  borders  of  a  stream  where  Mr.  Golds- 

185 


186  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

borough  left  them  to  be  ferried  across,  thus  saving 
some  miles  of  travel.  It  was  a  very  usual  way  of 
getting  about  in  that  part  of  the  country  where 
waterways  were  so  numerous.  From  the  old 
church  at  Talbot's  Angles  one  could  watch  many  of 
the  congregation  approaching  in  boats  from  the 
opposite  shore  of  the  creek,  and  when,  before  an 
approaching  gale  the  tide  would  rise  to  cover  the 
road,  the  little  boats  would  be  rowed  in  through  the 
gateway  half  way  up  the  path  that  they  might  land 
their  passengers.  It  was  therefore  no  novelty  to  be 
transported  to  the  upper  end  of  the  village  by  means 
of  the  little  boat,  though  it  involved  a  walk  down 
the  long  street  to  the  lower  end. 

Miss  Ri  looked  at  her  watch  as  they  started  on 
this  walk.  "It  is  earlier  than  I  thought,"  she  re- 
marked. "The  days  are  getting  so  short  one  can- 
not realize  the  time.  The  train  doesn't  leave  till 
seven,  and  we  have  over  an  hour  to  spare.  What 
shall  we  do  with  ourselves?" 

"We  don't  want  to  go  to  the  postoffice  to  be 
stared  at,"  returned  Linda,  "so  perhaps  we'd  better 
entertain  one  another  as  best  we  can  at  the  station ; 
it  seemed  rather  a  horrid  little  place,  but  what  bet- 
ter can  we  do?" 

However,  this  experiment  was  spared  them,  for 
they  had  not  gone  more  than  half  way  to  their  des- 
tination when  they  were  pleasantly  accosted  by  a 
man  who  was  coming  from  the  other  direction.  "I 


TWO  BUGGIES  187 

believe  you  are  the  ladies  who  came  from  Sand- 
bridge  on  the  train  this  morning,"  he  began.  "I 
am  Mr.  Brown,  the  agent  of  the  railroad,  and  as 
such  I  feel  that  I  must  extend  you  such  hospitality 
as  we  have  to  offer.  Our  accommodations  at  the 
station  are  rather  poor,  and  you  have  a  long  wait 
before  you,  for  I  suppose  you  take  the  seven  o'clock 
train." 

"Yes,  we  intended  to,"  Miss  Ri  told  him. 

"Then  I  beg  that  you  will  make  yourselves  com- 
fortable at  my  house.  It  is  only  a  step  away.  I 
am  sure  you  will  find  it  a  better  place  to  wait  than 
the  station."  He  was  so  evidently  anxious  for  the 
good  repute  of  the  village,  and  was  so  earnestly  sin- 
cere in  his  invitation  that  there  was  but  one  thing 
to  do,  and  that  to  accept. 

Mr.  Brown  conducted  them  up  on  the  porch  of  a 
neat  little  house,  opened  the  door  and  ushered  them 
into  an  orderly  sitting-room  where  he  saw  that  they 
were  provided  with  the  most  comfortable  of  the 
chairs  and  then  he  settled  himself  to  entertain  them. 
But  a  very  few  remarks  had  been  exchanged  before 
he  sprang  to  his  feet  with  a  shocked  expression  on 
his  face.  "Ladies,"  he  exclaimed,  "I  am  entirely 
forgetting  that  you  will  not  be  able  to  get  any  sup- 
per before  you  reach  home,  and  that  it  will  be  then 
very  late.  What  was  I  thinking  of?  We  have 
only  just  finished  our  own  meal,  and — Excuse  me, 
but  I  must  speak  to  Mrs.  Brown,"  and  before  they 


i88  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

could  utter  a  word  of  protest  he  rushed  from  the 
room. 

"Do  you  suppose  he  has  gone  to  fetch  the  keys  of 
the  city?"  whispered  Linda.  "What  are  we  to  do, 
Aunt  Ri  ?  We  can't  run,  for  there  is  nowhere  that 
we  can  escape,  and — " 

She  was  interrupted  by  the  entrance  of  their  host 
with  his  wife,  who,  though  somewhat  less  importu- 
nate, was  nevertheless  quite  determined  that  the 
strangers  should  not  leave  the  town  without  being 
properly  fed,  and  this  in  spite  of  Miss  Ri's  protest 
that  they  had  brought  some  fruit  and  biscuits  with 
them,  and  that  they  really  needed  nothing  more. 

Mr.  Brown  waved  all  such  suggestions  aside. 
Therefore,  seeing  that  it  would  be  less  rude  to  ac- 
cept the  proffered  hospitality  they  followed  Mrs. 
Brown  to  the  small  dining-room  where  a  dainty 
little  meal  was  soon  spread  for  them,  served  by 
Mrs.  Brown  and  her  sister,  Miss  Weedon. 

The  rain,  which  the  gathering  clouds  in  the  west 
had  threatened  that  morning,  and  which  had  begun 
to  drop  before  they  entered  the  house,  was  coming 
down  in  torrents  by  the  time  the  meal  was  over,  and 
was  accompanied  by  heavy  rolls  of  thunder  and 
vivid  lightning.  At  each  resounding  peal  and 
sharp  flash  the  hostess  and  her  sister  would  dis- 
appear within  the  recesses  of  a  darkened  room 
somewhere  beyond,  issuing  only  when  there  was  a 
lull  in  the  storm. 


TWO  BUGGIES  189 

"It  is  rather  unusual  to  have  so  heavy  a  thunder- 
storm this  late  in  the  season,"  Miss  Ri  was  remark- 
ing when  from  the  station  someone  came  in  haste 
to  say  that  lightning  had  struck  the  building  and 
would  Mr.  Brown  come  at  once.  He  hurried  off, 
though  not  without  the  parting  assurance  that  he 
would  soon  return,  leaving  his  wife  and  Miss 
Weedon  divided  between  the  responsibility  of  re- 
maining with  their  guests  and  their  desire  to  escape 
to  the  darkened  room. 

The  storm,  however,  seemed  to  have  spent  its 
fury  in  hurling  a  final  bolt  at  the  station,  and  the 
timid  women  had  the  hardihood  to  remain  in  the 
outer  room  while  only  sullen  mutterings  once  in  a 
while  reached  them.  Miss  Ri  and  Linda  did  their 
best  to  reassure  them,  but  in  the  face  of  the  fact 
that  lightning  had  struck  so  near,  this  was  not  easy 
to  do. 

It  was  getting  on  toward  train  time,  and  though 
the  station  was  but  a  short  walk  the  two  visitors 
wondered  how  they  were  to  reach  it  without  um- 
brellas, but  in  spite  of  the  confusion  occasioned  by 
the  lightning  shock,  they  were  not  forgotten  by  good 
Mr.  Brown,  who,  true  to  his  feeling  of  responsi- 
bility as  agent,  appeared  with  umbrellas  at  the 
proper  moment,  and  bore  them  off  with  the  manner 
of  one  who  would  furnish  a  band  of  music  if  he 
could.  He  was  faithful  to  the  last,  piloting  them 
to  seats  in  the  car,  telling  the  conductor  to  look 


190  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

after  them,  and  at  the  last  expressing  regret  at  the 
coming  of  the  storm  as  if  he  were  in  some  way  ac- 
countable for  it.  He  came  to  the  car  window  to 
urge  them  to  come  again  when  it  should  be  made 
more  agreeable  for  them,  then  as  the  train  began 
to  move  off,  he  stood,  hat  in  hand  till  darkness  hid 
him  from  sight. 

"That  is  what  I  call  a  true  Maryland  gentleman," 
said  Miss  Ri.  "Did  you  ever  meet  such  beautiful 
hospitality,  and  isn't  it  worth  while  to  find  out  that 
it  has  not  entirely  disappeared  from  the  land?" 

"I  wouldn't  have  missed  it  for  anything,"  de- 
clared Linda.  "It  has  been  a  wonderful  trip,  Aunt 
Ri,  from  beginning  to  end." 

"And  the  end  is  not  yet,"  responded  Miss  Ri  with 
prophetic  vision. 

"I  don't  see  what  more  could  happen,"  rejoined 
Linda. 

What  could  happen  was  made  very  obvious  as 
they  stepped  from  the  train  at  Boxford,  for  they 
had  hardly  alighted  before  Berkley  Matthews 
rushed  up  to  them.  "Here  you  are,"  he  cried,  as  if 
it  were  quite  to  be  expected  that  he  would  meet 
them.  "It  has  been  a  pretty  bad  storm  and  I  didn't 
know  whether  you  would  venture  or  not,  but  I 
thought  I'd  be  on  the  safe  side.  Now — " 

But  he  had  not  finished  his  sentence  when  an- 
other figure  loomed  up  in  the  doorway  of  the  dimly 
lighted  waiting-room,  and  who  should  come  for- 


TWO  BUGGIES  191 

ward  but  Wyatt  Jeffreys.  The  two  men  looked  at 
one  another  and  each  gave  a  little  embarrassed 
laugh.  "I  didn't  know  you  were  here,  Jeffreys," 
said  Berkley. 

"Nor  did  I  know  you  were,"  was  the  reply. 
"How  long  since  you  came?" 

"Oh,  half  an  hour  or  so.     When  did  you  get  in?" 

"Just  at  this  moment.  I  suppose  I  don't  know 
the  road  quite  as  well  as  you  do." 

"Linda,  will  you  give  me  the  pleasure  of  taking 
you  to  Sandbridge  in  my  buggy,"  broke  in  Berkley 
with  visible  haste. 

Miss  Ri  chuckled.  "Go  with  him,  Linda,  and  I'll 
give  Mr.  Jeffreys  the  inestimable  privilege  of  tak- 
ing me,  that  is,  if  he  intends  going  back  to-night. 
Perhaps  you  were  going  on  by  train,  Mr.  Jef- 
freys?" 

"Oh,  no,  I  came  up — I  came  up,"  he  was  not  so 
ready  to  announce  his  purpose  as  Berkley.  "I 
thought  you  ladies  might  not  be  provided  against 
the  storm,"  he  continued,  "and  it  seemed  to  me  that 
I  might  perhaps  be  of  use  in  some  way." 

"And  you  were  quite  right,"  Miss  Ri  returned. 
"It  saves  me  the  bother  of  hunting  up  a  team  from 
the  stables,  or  of  deciding  upon  the  other  alternative 
•of  spending  the  night  in  Boxford,  something  I 
would  much  prefer  not  to  do.  Where  is  your 
buggy?  I  know  the  road  perfectly."  So  Mr.  Jef- 
freys was  forced  to  hide  whatever  disappointment 


192  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

he  might  feel  while  Berkley  bore  off  Linda  to 
where  his  buggy,  well  provided  with  rain-proof 
covers,  stood  under  shelter  of  the  station's  shed. 

Well  protected  from  the  weather  Linda  and  her 
escort  drove  off  hidden  behind  the  oilcloth  curtains 
on  which  the  rain  pattered  steadily.  The  lights  of 
the  buggy  sent  long  beams  over  the  wet  shell  road, 
the  air  had  a  mingled  odor  of  salt  marsh  and  moist, 
fallen  autumn  leaves.  From  the  clouds  rolling  off 
overhead,  once  in  a  while  rumbled  muffled  peals  of 
thunder.  Berk's  horse  responded  to  his  master's 
slightest  word,  and  on  a  worse  night  and  over  worse 
roads  could  be  depended  upon,  so  Berkley  assured 
his  companion. 

"So  you've  been  to  see  the  old  judge,"  said  the 
young  man  by  way  of  beginning  conversation. 
"Isn't  he  a  fine  old  fellow?" 

"He  is  the  dearest  old  man  I  ever  saw,"  returned 
Linda  enthusiastically.  "He  has  such  a  beautiful 
head,  and  if  one  wanted  to  meet  the  very  pattern  of 
an  old  time  courtly  gentleman  he  would  have  to  go 
no  further  than  Judge  Goldsborough." 

"I  quite  agree  with  you,  and  I  wish  I  could  ever 
hope  to  become  anything  like  him,  but  nature  has 
not  endowed  me  with  his  fine  presence  nor  with  his 
brains." 

"But  you  can  hope  to  be  J.  S.  D.,  you  know." 

"I  don't  know.     The  some  day  seems  a  very  far 


TWO  BUGGIES  193 

cry,  just  now."  He  was  silent  a  moment  before  he 
asked:  "What  did  the  judge  have  to  say  to  you, 
Linda?" 

"Miss  Ri  asked  him  about  the  Talbot  estates  and 
he  appeared  quite  sure  that  there  could  be  no  com- 
plications as  regards  Talbot's  Angles,  at  least.  He 
said  he  had  some  old  papers  which  might  give  him 
some  points  about  the  other  places." 

"He  ought  to  know  if  anyone  does,"  returned 
Berkley.  "Suppose  there  should  be  complications, 
Linda,  and  suppose  it  should  be  Talbot's  Angles  that 
Jeffreys  lays  claim  to,  and  that  he  proved  a  legiti- 
mate claim,  what  then?" 

"I'd  not  be  much  worse  off  than  I  am  now." 

"Oh,  yes,  you  would.  There  is  the  chance  of 
your  sister-in-law  marrying  again." 

"Which  I  don't  think  she  is  liable  to  do.  I  don't 
know  that  I  would  mind  Mr.  Jeffreys'  having  it  any 
more  than  I  do  that  Grace  should.  He,  at  least,  is 
of  the  Talbot  blood." 

"There  is  something  in  that.  I  wish  it  were  all 
yours;  I  can't  bear  the  idea  of  your  wearing  your- 
self out  teaching,  Linda."  The  words  came  with 
caressing  concern. 

"I  am  more  fortunate  than  most.  Think  of  my 
having  a  home  with  Miss  Ri,  and  among  my  own 
people.  I  suppose  it  actually  isn't  so  much  that  the 
teaching  is  difficult  as  that  I  am  so  constituted  that 


i94  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

I  can't  really  love  it.  It  is  a  great  thing  to  make 
one's  living  in  the  way  one  likes  best ;  that  seems  to 
me  to  be  half  the  battle." 

"And  what  is  it  you  like  best  ?" 

"To  scribble." 

"Have  you  sent  out  any  more  of  your  work?" 

"No,  but  I  intend  to." 

"And  I  hope  you  will  finally  meet  such  success 
that  you  can  give  yourself  up  to  that  kind  of  work. 
I  agree  with  you  that  one  ought  to  discover  what 
are  his  best  powers  and  make  the  best  use  oT  them 
he  possibly  can ;  if  he  would  be  happy." 

"You  are  happy  in  your  work,  Berk,  aren't  you?" 

"Yes,  I  love  it,  thank  fortune,  and  I  am  begin- 
ning to  see  glimpses  of  a  future." 

"That  is  good,"  returned  Linda  with  satisfaction. 
"You  deserve  success,  Berk." 

"No  more  than  others." 

"Much  more  than  most  others.  Was  ever  a  bet- 
ter son,  or  brother,  if  it  comes  to  that  ?" 

"Oh,  nonsense,  it  is  no  sacrifice  to  do  things  for 
those  you  love;  in  fact,  I've  been  rather  selfish  in 
pleasing  myself,  indulging  my  love  of  bestowing. 
It  is  really  no  credit  to  give  because  one  enjoys  it." 

"Then  there  is  no  such  thing  as  unselfishness  in 
the  world." 

"Oh,  yes,  there  is;  when  one  does  a  thing  he 
doesn't  like,  or  gives  up  something  he  really  wants 
very  much ;  that  is  my  idea  of  unselfishness." 


TWO  BUGGIES  195 

"Then  am  I  or  am  I  not  to  consider  that  you  have 
performed  a  selfish  act  in  coming  all  the  way  to 
Boxford  for  me  in  all  this  rain?"  asked  Linda 
laughing.  There  may  have  been  a  little  coquetry 
in  the  question,  but  she  was  hardly  prepared  for  the 
seriousness  of  the  reply. 

"It  was  purely  and  entirely  selfish  on  my  part. 
It  was  the  one  thing  I  wanted  most  to  do,  and  I 
would  go  much  further  and  through  a  thousand 
greater  difficulties  for  you.  In  fact,  there  is  noth- 
ing I  wouldn't  do  to  make  you  happy,  Linda 
Talbot." 

"There's  chivalry  for  you,"  returned  Linda,  de- 
termined to  take  the  answer  as  lightly  as  possible. 

The  warmth  but  not  the  earnestness  had  gone  out 
of  his  tones  when  he  made  the  next  remark:  "I 
wish  I  could  make  it  possible  for  you  to  stop  teach- 
ing, Linda." 

"Marry  Grace  off  and  get  back  Talbot's  Angles 
for  me,  and  I  will  stop,"  she  replied  in  a  matter-of- 
fact  tone. 

"Then  would  you  go  down  there  to  live?" 

"No,  I'd  still  let  Phillips  have  the  place,  but  I 
would  go  down  there  often,  and  it  would  bring  me 
enough  to  live  on.  I  could  persuade  Miss  Ri  to 
spend  part  of  the  year  there,  maybe,  and — oh, 
wouldn't  it  be  lovely  ?" 

Berkley  did  not  reply,  but  spoke  to  his  horse, 
"Go  on  there,  Jerry."  They  had  been  driving  so 


196  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

slowly  that  the  other  buggy  had  passed  them 
though  Berkley's  was  the  fleeter  horse.  But  now 
they  sped  along  over  the  hard  wet  road,  silence  be- 
tween them.  Linda's  imagination  was  busy  pictur- 
ing the  delights  of  having  the  old  homestead  for  her 
very  own,  and  was  fancying  days  spent  there  with 
Miss  Ri  and  Mammy,  for  of  course  Mammy  would 

go- 
She  was  roused  by  hearing  Berkley  say  in  a  hard 

dispassionate  voice,  "Then  your  dearest  wish  on 
earth  is  to  possess  Talbot's  Angles." 

"I  really  think  it  is.  I  don't  suppose  it  is  very 
nice  of  me  to  feel  so  about  what  belongs  to  another, 
but  I  confess  to  you,  Berk,  that  I  can't  help  count- 
ing a  little  on  Grace's  marrying  again." 

"That  is  perfectly  natural,  and  it  isn't  half  so  bad 
as  wishing  her  dead,  though  some  might  think  so," 
he  added.  Then  after  a  moment's  silence:  "Linda, 
I  was  selfish  to  carry  you  off  this  way  without  giv- 
ing you  any  choice  in  the  matter.  Perhaps  you 
would  rather  have  gone  with  Jeffreys.  It  isn't  too 
late  to  change  now,  if  you  say  so.  We  can  easily 
overtake  his  buggy." 

"At  the  eleventh  hour?  No,  I  thank  you,  not 
after  I  am  comfortably  settled  and  safe  from  the 
rain.  You  have  tucked  me  in  so  well,  Berk.  I 
don't  believe  Mr.  Jeffreys  could  have  done  it  half  so 
well,  but  probably  he  has  not  had  the  experience 
you  have.  I  might  enjoy  variety  of  companionship, 


TWO  BUGGIES  197 

but  my  bodily  comfort  is  worth  more  to  me.'* 
Linda  was  very  skilful  in  giving  non-committal  re- 
plies it  seemed. 

Berkley  drew  a  little  sigh;  whether  of  relief  or 
disappointment  Linda  could  not  determine. 

They  had  nearly  overtaken  the  other  two  by  now 
and  soon  had  passed  them,  reaching  home  before 
the  others.  Berkley  refused  to  come  in ;  spite  of  in- 
ducements in  the  shape  of  hot  coffee  and  sand- 
wiches. Mr.  Jeffreys,  however,  was  not  averse  to 
joining  in  a  late  supper,  and  taking  his  horse 
around  to  shelter,  he  returned  to  the  house  while 
Berkley  bade  all  good-night  and  drove  off  in  the 
rain. 

Anyone  noticing  the  little  office  opposite  the  Jack- 
son House  would  have  seen  a  light  there  burning 
nearly  all  night,  and  could  he  have  looked  in  he 
would  have  observed  a  young  man  whose  earnest 
eyes  were  bent  upon  pages  of  yellow  manuscript. 
These  absorbed  him  so  closely  that  the  clock  in  the 
church  tower  struck  three  before  he  aroused  him- 
self. Even  then  he  did  not  leave  the  place,  but  sat 
with  elbows  on  desk  and  head  in  hands  for  another 
hour.  Then,  turning  out  the  light  and  locking  the 
door  he  crossed  the  street  to  the  hotel  where  the 
watchman,  snoring  in  his  chair,  paid  no  heed  to  the 
quiet  entrance  of  this  late  guest. 

Long  before  this  Linda  had  said  good-night  to 
her  departing  relative,  but  the  words  which  haunted 


198  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

her  before  she  dropped  asleep  were  not  his  unemo- 
tional and  polite  phrases,  but  the  words  spoken 
softly,  caressingly  yet  with  subdued  fire:  "There 
is  nothing  I  would  not  do  to  make  you  happy,  Linda 
Talbot."  Was  there  a  confession  ?  Dared  she  un- 
derstand it  so? 


CHAPTER  XV 

A   DISTINCT    SENSATION 

For  two  days  the  storm  continued,  increasing  to 
a  gale  which  whipped  the  waters  of  the  placid  river 
to  a  yellow  angry  flood,  and  beat  the  few  remaining 
leaves  from  their  clasp  on  the  trees.  During  this 
time  Linda  and  Miss  Ri  kept  indoors  as  closely  as 
they  could,  their  chief  visitor  being  Mr.  Jeffreys. 
Miss  Parthy,  to  be  sure,  paddled  up  the  walk  to  the 
back  door  in  all  the  rain,  and  Bertie  Bryan's  rosy 
face  peeped  in  at  them  one  afternoon,  but  Berkley 
did  not  come  near,  and  no  one  guessed  his  reason 
for  staying  away. 

How  great  a  struggle  had  been  going  on  in  the 
young  man's  mind  none  associated  with  him  im- 
agined. Since  that  night  when  it  was  disclosed  to 
him  through  the  papers  which  Mr.  Jeffreys  had  left 
in  his  care,  that  there  was  a  possibility  of  Linda's 
losing  her  chance  to  inherit  Talbot's  Angles,  he  had 
fought  his  giants ;  one  his  love  for  the  girl,  the  other 
the  temptation  to  withhold  the  more  important  pa- 
pers. He  need  not  destroy  them;  he  would  only 
set  them  aside,  and  tell  Jeffreys  there  was  not  suf- 

190 


200  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

ficient  evidence  to  warrant  a  legal  claim.  At  last, 
however,  when  he  must  really  face  the  issue,  he 
laughed  at  such  an  idea,  and  realized  that  there  was 
but  one  thing  for  him  to  do.  He  would  give  up 
Linda  to  his  rival.  Why  should  Jeffreys  not  pos- 
sess the  property  as  well  as  Grace?  So,  perhaps, 
would  Linda  be  given  her  dearest  wish.  That  day 
at  the  postoffice  it  had  been  revealed  to  him  what 
his  feeling  for  the  girl  really  meant,  and  from  that 
moment  his  love  had  grown  stronger,  deeper,  fuller. 
On  that  rainy  night  he  had  nearly  spoken  of  his 
feeling  for  her.  Had  she  spoken  less  lightly  he 
might  have  done  so,  even  though  at  that  time  his 
cursory  glance  at  the  papers  had  given  him  some 
belief  in  the  justice  of  Jeffreys'  claim.  But  he  had 
recognized  that  the  girl  herself  was  still  heart  free, 
and  therefore,  though  there  might  be  a  chance  for 
him  he  must  keep  away,  must  make  excuses  not  to 
see  her.  He  must  assume  a  great  air  of  one  too 
absorbed  in  business  to  spare  time  for  visiting  his 
friends.  He  could  manage  all  that.  But  first  he 
must  pave  the  way.  He  would  go  and  tell  them  all 
that  to  Jeffreys  would  probably  fall  the  old  home- 
stead, and  he  would  say :  "Better  into  the  hands  of 
an  honest  and  honorable  man,  the  descendant  of  the 
old  stock,  than  to  Grace  Talbot."  He  would  praise 
this  future  owner,  and  would  plant  the  seeds 
which  should  blossom  into  regard  and  affection. 
Jeffreys  was  a  good  fellow,  a  little  stiff,  maybe,  but 


A  DISTINCT  SENSATION  201 

a  man  of  strict  morality  and — the  fight  was  bitter — 
he  would  make  her  a  good  husband. 

He  shrank  from  making  the  revelation  which 
should  first  suggest  to  Linda  that  it  was  really  Tal- 
bot's  Angles  to  which  the  papers  referred.  He 
could  see  her  startled  look,  her  fluttering  hands,  the 
color  coming  and  going  in  her  cheeks.  He  bit  his 
lip  fiercely  and  tramped  up  and  down  his  small  office 
savagely.  Why  should  this  ordeal  be  his  to  meet? 
He  would  turn  it  over  to  some  other,  Miss  Ri, 
perhaps. 

"I  can't  do  it,"  he  cried  aloud.  "I'll  fling  the 
whole  dog-goned  pack  of  papers  into  the  river 
first."  Her  dearest  wish!  He  stopped  short. 
Could  he  supply  it?  Was  he  able  to  buy  Talbot's 
Angles  supposing  it  were  for  sale  ?  What  nonsense. 
He  laughed  mirthlessly.  "I  am  a  pretty  sort  of 
duffer,"  he  exclaimed.  "What  am  I  thinking  of?" 

He  jammed  his  hat  upon  his  head,  slammed  the 
door  behind  him  and  strode  down  the  street,  passing 
Uncle  Moke  without  a  word  and  with  such  a  set  look 
on  his  face  as  caused  the  old  man  to  mumble, 
"Mr.  Berk  sholy  is  riled.  Look  lak  he  gwine  'res' 
some  o'  dese  bank  robbers,  or  sumpin." 

Berkley's  step  never  faltered  as  he  marched  on 
with  head  up,  as  one  going  to  battle.  His  savage 
peal  of  the  door-bell  brought  Miss  Ri  in  haste.  Her 
face  cleared  when  she  saw  who  it  was.  "Well, 
Berk,"  she  exclaimed,  "what  a  mighty  pull  you  did 


202  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

give,  to  be  sure.  Come  in,  come  in  and  help  us 
celebrate.  We've  a  great  piece  of  news  for  you." 

He  entered  the  room,  where  Linda  sat,  her  face 
all  alight,  and  some  distance  away,  Mr.  Jeffreys, 
with  a  queer  strained  expression  in  his  eyes,  but  a 
forced  smile  upon  his  lips.  On  the  table  stood  a 
tray  with  glasses  filled  with  some  of  Miss  Ri's 
famous  homemade  wine.  "Here  comes  another  to 
help  us  celebrate,"  cried  Miss  Ri.  "Get  another 
glass,  Verlinda."  She  filled  it,  when  brought,  from 
the  heavy  old  decanter  and,  holding  her  own  glass 
aloft,  she  exclaimed:  "Here's  to  the  next  owner  of 
Talbot's  Angles !" 

Berkley's  hand  shook  so  that  his  glass  overflowed 
and  a  few  drops  were  spilled.  His  eyes  met  those 
of  the  other  man.  Neither  spoke,  nor  did  either 
touch  the  wine. 

"You  don't  understand  my  toast,"  cried  Miss  Ri, 
looking  from  one  to  the  other.  "Grace  Talbot  is 
going  to  marry  Major  Forbes,  and  Linda  will  have 
her  heart's  desire." 

"Of  course,  I'll  drink  to  Linda,  if  that  is  what 
you  mean,"  said  Berkley,  recovering  himself  and 
tossing  off  the  contents  of  the  glass,  while  Mr. 
Jeffreys  echoed:  "Of  course,  we'll  drink  to  Miss 
Linda." 

Berkley  sat  down,  his  head  in  a  whirl.  This  put 
an  entirely  different  face  on  the  matter.  He  would 
have  to  think  it  over.  This  was  no  time  to  force 


A  DISTINCT  SENSATION  203 

conclusions.  He  scarcely  heard  Linda's  eager  ac- 
count of  the  letter  she  had  that  day  received  from 
her  sister-in-law.  "It  was  so  like  Grace,"  she  told 
him.  "Major  Forbes  was  such  an  old  friend — " 

"Quite  old,"  put  in  Miss  Ri.  "He  must  be  sixty, 
if  he's  a  day." 

"And  she  was  such  a  dependent  creature,"  Linda 
went  on.  "It  seemed  only  proper  that  these  two 
starved  hearts  should  be  united.  She  hoped  Linda 
would  not  think  she  had  been  precipitate,  but  it  had 
been  eight  months  since  poor  Martin — not  darling 
Martin  any  more — "  Linda  commented  sadly,  "and 
she  would,  of  course,  wait  for  the  full  year  to  pass. 
She  felt  that  dear  Linda  would  be  pleased,  not  only 
because  of  Grace's  happiness,  but  because  it  would 
benefit  her.  She  must  not  think  that  little  Grace 
was  unmindful  of  that  part  of  it.  She  had  it  in 
mind  to  do  what  she  could  for  Martin's  sister  and, 
though  it  was  a  sacrifice  to  give  up  her  home  to 
Linda,  it  was  done  cheerfully.  Linda  must  feel 
assured  of  that." 

"Now,  isn't  it  like  that  woman  to  take  such  an 
attitude,"  sneered  Miss  Ri.  "Give  it  up?  She 
can't  help  herself,  as  I  see  it." 

"Major  Forbes  is  abundantly  able  to  keep  me  in 
the  style  to  which  I  have  been  accustomed,"  Linda 
read — another  sneer  from  Miss  Ri — "and  I  am  sure 
I  shall  be  happier  than  living  a  lonely  and  forlorn 
widowhood,"  and  so  on  and  so  on. 


204  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

As  Linda's  soft  slow  tones  ceased,  Berkley  roused 
himself  to  say,  "I  only  dropped  in  for  a  minute.  I 
am  terribly  busy  these  days.  I  must  run  right  back 
to  the  office."  He  did  not  look  at  Mr.  Jeffreys,  but 
shook  hands  with  Miss  Ri.  "Sorry  I  can't  stay," 
he  said  nervously.  "I'll  come  again  as  soon  as  I 
get  time,  Miss  Ri." 

Linda  followed  him  to  the  door.  "Aren't  you 
glad,  Berk?"  she  asked  wistfully. 

He  looked  past  her  down  the  street.  "Glad  ?  Of 
course,  I'm  glad,"  he  said,  then  he  ran  down  the 
steps,  Linda  looking  after  him  with  a  quivering  lip. 

She  returned  to  find  that  Mr.  Jeffreys,  too,  had 
gone.  "By  the  side  door,"  explained  Miss  Ri. 

Linda  went  over  to  the  fireplace  and  put  her  foot 
on  the  fender,  her  back  to  Miss  Ri,  that  the  latter 
might  not  see  the  tears  which  filled  her  eyes.  "They 
weren't  a  bit  glad,  either  of  them,"  she  said  pres- 
ently. "I  thought  Berk  would  be,  anyhow.  Don't 
you  think  he  acted  queerly,  Aunt  Ri?" 

"I  think  they  both  did ;  but  it  may  have  been  that 
they  were  completely  bowled  over  with  surprise. 
You  know  we  could  scarcely  believe  it  at  first,  our- 
selves, and  men  are  much  slower  to  grasp  things 
than  women.  They  were  dumbfounded,  that  was 
all  and,  no  doubt,  Berk  is  busy.  I  hope  he  is.  So 
much  the  better  for  him,  my  dear." 

Linda  made  no  response.  She  was  not  aware 
that  Berkley  had  gone  back  to  his  office  to  wage 


A  DISTINCT  SENSATION  205 

another  battle.  What  a  turn  of  fate,  to  be  sure,  and 
now  what  was  to  be  done?  It  would  be  Linda, 
Linda  who  was  to  be  deprived  of  her  own,  and  his 
must  be  the  hand  to  deal  the  blow.  Those  papers ! 
He  struck  them  with  his  clenched  fist,  as  he  stood 
over  his  desk,  and  if  a  smothered  oath  escaped  him, 
it  is  to  be  hoped  the  recording  angel  failed  to  regis- 
ter it  against  him.  "There  is  one  thing  certain,"  he 
told  himself;  "if  the  thing  is  to  be  carried  on,  I'll 
throw  up  the  case.  I'll  be  hanged  if  I  have  any- 
thing to  do  with  it." 

He  picked  up  a  letter  which  he  had  laid  aside,  sat 
down,  and  began  to  read  it  over.  It  was  from 
Cyrus  Talbot  to  his  brother  Madison,  and  it  read: 

"You  say  that  your  property  Addition  has  not 
suffered  as  much  as  some  others,  but  that  on  account 
of  hard  times,  you  do  not  feel  it  possible  at  this  time 
to  rebuild  the  house  burnt  some  months  ago ;  there- 
fore, since  evil  times  have  befallen  you  by  reason 
of  the  ravages  of  war,  I  am  quite  willing  that  you 
should  continue  to  occupy  the  house  at  Talbot's 
Angles ;  but  as  soon  as  peace  visits  our  land,  I  would 
esteem  it  a  favor,  if  you  would  find  someone  to  take 
the  plantation  itself,  paying  me  a  yearly  rental, 
which  shall  be  fixed  as  circumstances  allow.  My 
own  affairs  here  continue  to  prosper,  and  I  do  not 
think  I  shall  return  to  Maryland,  having  found  me 
a  wife  whose  relatives  live  in  close  proximity  and 


206  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

are  a  God-fearing  and  industrious  people.  I  shall 
be  glad  to  hear  from  you  as  occasion  permits,  and 
subscribe  myself 

"Your  aff.  brother, 

"CYRUS." 

This  letter  appeared  never  to  have  been  sent,  but 
there  were  others  bearing  upon  the  subject  from 
Madison  to  his  brother.  It  seemed  from  them  that 
Madison  was  able  to  find  a  tenant  for  the  Angles, 
but  in  time  he  proved  unsatisfactory,  as  there  were 
many  reports  of  his  thriftlessness,  and  at  the  time 
of  Cyrus's  death  the  place  lay  idle. 

That  this  place  was  Talbot's  Angles  appeared 
evident  from  references  to  certain  fields  lying  next 
the  old  church,  and  in  an  account  of  some  disaster 
befalling  the  old  windmill  in  a  heavy  storm.  There 
were,  too,  old  receipts  and  bills  which  identified  the 
property  and  proved  that,  at  least  during  the  life 
of  Cyrus  Talbot,  it  had  been  in  his  possession,  what- 
ever may  have  happened  afterward.  Owing  to  the 
fact  that  many  deeds  and  records  had  been  destroyed 
during  the  War  of  1812  and  later  during  the  Civil 
War,  when  neglect  and  indifference  caused  many 
legal  papers  to  be  lost,  it  promised  to  be  a  difficult 
thing  to  trace  the  ownership  through  succeeding 
years,  unless  further  proof  could  be  found. 

At  last  Berkley  happened  upon  a  letter  dated 
much  later,  a  letter  from  Linda's  own  father  to 


A  DISTINCT  SENSATION  207 

Charles  Jeffreys.  It  said:  "I  have  looked  into  the 
matter  you  bring  to  my  notice,  and  I  find  that  you 
are  right  in  most  of  your  surmises ;  but,  as  the  place 
lay  idle  and  neglected  for  a  number  of  years,  tenant- 
less  and  abandoned,  it  was  in  no  condition  to  bring 
in  any  return  when  I  took  it  in  hand.  I  have  spent 
a  good  deal  on  it,  and  if  you  are  willing  to  consider 
this  outlay  as  rental  for  the  time  being,  I  shall  be 
glad  to  be  considered  as  your  tenant,  otherwise  I 
must  give  up  the  place.  Since  the  slaves  were  freed, 
labor  is  difficult  to  get,  and  I  cannot  afford  to  bring 
up  so  neglected  a  place  at  my  own  expense  and  pay 
rent  besides.  We  have  continued  to  live  in  the  old 
house,  which  has  been  kept  in  good  repair.  Later 
on,  we  may  be  able  to  come  to  a  different  arrange- 
ment; but  at  present  it  seems  to  me  it  would  be  to 
your  better  advantage  if  you  allow  matters  to 
remain  as  they  are.  If  you  take  the  property  into 
your  own  hands,  much  money  will  have  to  be  spent 
on  it  before  it  can  bring  you  any  appreciable 
return." 

"Twenty-five  years  ago,"  mused  Berkley.  "I 
wonder  if  Martin  knew,  or  whether  a  different 
arrangement  was  at  last  made.  I  imagine  not  and 
that  the  place  was  allowed  to  remain  in  James  Tal- 
bot's  hands  in  return  for  what  he  might  do  for  it. 
That  is  the  latest  information  to  be  had,  that  I  can 
see,  and  there  is  really  nothing  more  to  be  found 
out  from  these  papers." 


2o8  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

He  rested  his  head  on  his  hand  and  remained  lost 
in  deep  thought.  For  all  Miss  Ri's  decided  an- 
nouncement that  he  might  even  perjure  himself  for 
one  he  loved,  that  was  something  Berkley  Matthews 
would  never  do.  No,  there  was  no  help  for  it ;  facts 
were  facts,  and  he  must  let  them  be  known.  Could 
he  ever  expect  to  win  Linda's  love  and  respect,  if  he 
had  won  her  by  such  unworthy  means  ?  Would  he 
not  always  be  playing  a  false  part,  and  would  not 
the  result  fail  of  good  to  him  and  to  her?  No,  a 
dishonorable  transaction,  no  matter  what  its  motive, 
would  never  do  to  base  true  love  upon.  Let  things 
take  their  course,  and  let  the  best  man  win.  It 
might  be,  after  all,  that  she  would  not  marry 
Jeffreys,  in  spite  of  his  prospects.  But  this  hope  he 
dared  not  cherish.  He  pressed  his  hand  over  his 
eyes,  as  if  he  would  shut  out  too  bright  a  vision,  and 
just  then  the  door  of  his  office  opened  and  in  walked 
Mr.  Jeffreys. 

Berkley  turned  sharply  at  the  sudden  entrance. 
"Ah,"  he  exclaimed,  "you  are  just  the  man  I  was 
thinking  of.  I've  been  going  over  these  papers 
again,  Jeffreys,  and  so  far  as  I  can  judge,  it  looks 
like  a  pretty  good  case.  Sit  down  and  we'll  talk 
it  over." 

Jeffreys  drew  up  a  chair.  Berkley  wheeled 
around  and  the  two  sat  facing  one  another.  "Of 
course,"  Berkley  began,  "you  realize  that  the  prop- 


A  DISTINCT  SENSATION  209 

erty  referred  to  is  Miss  Talbot's  old  home,  Talbot's 
Angles." 

Mr.  Jeffreys  looked  down.  "Yes,  I  inferred  so, 
although  at  first  I  was  uncertain,  not  knowing  as 
much  as  I  do  now." 

"The  records  will  have  to  be  searched,  of  course, 
and  we  can  find  out  who  has  been  paying  taxes  and 
all  that,  you  understand.  I  don't  know  that  I  shall 
have  time  to  attend  to  it  myself;  I  am  pretty  busy 
just  now." 

"That  is  too  bad ;  I  depended  on  you,  Matthews." 

"I  know  you  did,  but — " 

Wyatt  Jeffreys  leaned  forward.  "Is  it  only  be- 
cause you  are  busy?  Is  that  the  only  reason?" 

Berkley  did  not  answer  at  once;  then  he  parried 
the  question. 

"What  other  reason  could  there  be?" 

"Your  interest  in  Miss  Talbot.  I  realize,  Mat- 
thews, that  I  have  come  down  here  a  perfect 
stranger  to  deprive  a  very  lovely  young  woman  of 
her  property,  and  that  you  should  in  all  reason  feel 
antagonistic  is  not  to  be  wondered  at.  I  think  you 
have  known  for  some  time  that  it  was  her  property 
that  I  claimed." 

"I  have  known  it  only  since  I  made  a  closer  ex- 
amination of  these  papers." 

"Very  well ;  that  does  not  alter  the  fact  that  you 
have  been  uniformly  kind  and  considerate  so  far  as 


210  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

I  was  concerned,  and  therefore  I  feel  that  I  can 
speak  as  man  to  man."  He  paused.  "Unless  you 
have  a  prior  claim,  there  is  no  need  of  Miss  Tal- 
bot's  losing  her  property  if — " 

"She  will  take  you  with  it,"  Berkley  filled  the 
pause.  "I  understand."  The  crucial  moment  had 
come.  Berkley  suddenly  swung  his  chair  around, 
his  face,  turned  from  the  other,  was  white  and  set, 
but  he  said  steadily,  "That  would  certainly  be  the 
best  way  out  of  the  difficulty.  I  have  no  prior 
claim,  Jeffreys,  and  I  wish  you  success."  He  swung 
himself  back  again  and  held  out  his  hand. 

The  other  took  it  in  a  firm  grip.  "That  is  good 
of  you,  Matthews.  I  appreciate  your  kindness  more 
than  I  can  say."  There  was  silence,  broken  by  Mr. 
Jeffreys,  who  went  on:  "If  it  is  only  the  matter  of 
delay  then,  Matthews,  I  can  wait  your  good  pleas- 
ure, if  you  will  take  up  my  case." 

Berkley  gave  himself  time  before  he  answered. 
Why  shouldn't  he  take  the  case?  What  odds,  now, 
what  Linda  thought?  He  had  relinquished  all 
rights  to  her  consideration.  If  he  did  not  hunt  up 
the  evidence,  someone  else  would,  and  she  be  no 
better  off.  If  he  must  disregard  her,  he  could  at 
least  be  true  to  Jeffreys.  "I'll  not  go  back  on  my 
word.  I'll  take  it,"  he  said  shortly. 

"I've  kept  a  busy  man  too  long,"  said  Jeffreys 
rising,  "but  I  hope  some  day  I  can  show  my  appre- 
ciation of  what  you  are  doing  for  me,  in  more  ways 


A  DISTINCT  SENSATION  211 

than  one,"  he  added  with  a  smile.  He  held  out  his 
hand.  Berkley  took  it  mechanically,  saying, 
"Good-night." 

"Good-evening,"  returned  Mr.  Jeffreys,  and  he 
went  out. 

It  was  not  late,  though  growing  dark,  but  to 
Berkley  it  had  become  darkest  night.  Never,  till 
that  moment,  had  he  realized  how  strong  a  hold 
upon  him  his  affection  for  Linda  had  taken.  She 
was  so  sweet,  so  gentle,  one  whose  presence  always 
brought  calm  and  peace,  yet  she  could  be  very  droll 
and  merry,  very  bright  and  entertaining,  with  a 
blessed  grace  of  humor.  With  all  her  poetic  fancy 
there  was  the  domestic  side,  too,  which  had  made 
her  the  successful  housekeeper  when  yet  but  a 
school  girl.  And  how  dainty  she  always  was,  how 
womanly  her  little  frills  and  simple  ornaments. 
Even  the  way  her  dark  hair  grew  around  her  pretty 
low  forehead,  and  was  worn  parted  above  it,  made 
her  distinctive  from  other  girls,  whose  monstrous 
puffs  and  braids  gave  them  a  top-heavy  look.  What 
a  woman  for  a  man  to  come  home  to  after  a  day  of 
stress.  She,  who  had  striven  for  her  daily  bread, 
how  well  she  would  understand  what  a  man's  battle 
of  life  meant.  His  first  impulse  was  to  throw  every- 
thing to  the  winds,  to  snatch  up  his  hat  and  rush  off 
to  her,  beg  her  to  listen  to  him,  tell  her  he  would 
work  for  her,  live  for  her,  die  for  her.  He  stood  for 
a  moment,  trembling  with  intensity  of  feeling,  then 


212  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

he  sat  heavily  down  again.  "I  can't  do  it,"  he  whis- 
pered. "I  must  think  of  her,  of  what  is  best  for 
her." 

Moments  passed.  The  street  lamps  shone  out, 
footsteps  echoed  and  reechoed.  Some  boys  went  by 
singing.  In  the  darkness  Berkley  sat  very  quietly, 
only  once  in  a  while  he  whispered,  "Oh,  God!  oh, 
God !"  as  one  who  has  found  his  Gethsemane.  The 
hours  wore  on,  the  street  grew  very  quiet,  the  rum- 
bling of  wagons,  the  tread  of  passers-by  ceased. 
Lights  in  the  lower  stories  of  the  houses  began  to 
be  extinguished,  while  those  above  showed  in  first 
one  room  and  then  another.  Berkley  finally  arose, 
stumbled  uncertainly  across  the  street  and  up  to  his 
room,  where  he  threw  himself  across  his  bed,  face 
down,  and  lay  there  all  night  wrestling  with  him- 
self. 


CHAPTER   XVI 
"BEGONE,  DULL  CARE" 

The  days  slipped  by  till  the  Christmas  holidays 
were  at  hand.  Linda  was  busy  with  her  school. 
Miss  Ri  occupied  herself  with  the  hundred  things 
which  kept  her  interests  alive.  Her  clubs,  church 
meetings,  visits  to  sick  neighbors,  public  and  private 
charities,  all  filled  her  days  to  overflowing.  Mr. 
Jeffreys  called  regularly,  so  it  came  to  be  an  under- 
stood thing  that  he  would  appear  either  afternoon 
or  evening.  Berkley  visited  the  house  seldom,  and 
rarely  when  Linda  was  at  home.  He  would  run  in 
once  in  a  while,  asserting  that  he  was  too  busy  to 
stay  and  had  only  dropped  in  to  say  "Howdy."  He 
would  question  Miss  Ri  about  her  affairs,  but  before 
she  could  turn  her  queries  upon  him,  he  would  be 
off.  After  that  one  bitter  fight,  he  had  himself  well 
in  hand,  and  the  fact  that  he  worked  far  into  the 
night  and  was  fast  gaining  a  reputation  for  industry 
and  exactness,  not  only  bore  out  his  statements,  but 
caused  him  to  stand  well  with  the  older  lawyers. 

"That's  a  young  man  who  will  make  his  mark," 
said  Judge  Baker  to  Miss  Ri  one  morning  when 
he  met  her  on  the  street — Berkley  had  just  passed 

213 


214  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

them  with  a  swift  bow — "though  I  am  afraid  he  is 
working  too  hard." 

"I'll  have  to  haul  him  over  the  coals,"  returned 
Miss  Ri.  "You  know  he  is  a  great  favorite  of  mine, 
Judge." 

"So  I  have  observed.  Give  him  a  little  motherly 
advice,  Miss  Ri.  He  needs  it.  He  mustn't  be 
burning  the  candle  at  both  ends;  but  I  prophecy, 
that  if  he  continues  to  exhibit  the  keenness  and  skill 
he  is  developing,  he  will  be  judge  some  day." 

The  words  returned  to  Miss  Ri  as  she  walked 
down  street,  and  her  thoughts  went  back  to  the 
trunk  and  then  to  the  papers.  There  had  been  no 
news  from  Judge  Goldsborough,  and  there  appeared 
to  be  an  absolute  lull.  Mr.  Jeffreys  had  announced 
that  Berkley  was  going  to  take  up  the  case  as  soon 
as  he  had  time,  and  so  it  stood. 

If  Linda  missed  Berkley,  she  did  not  say  so,  and 
never  commented  upon  his  sins  of  omission.  She 
accepted  Mr.  Jeffreys'  constant  attention  as  a  mat- 
ter of  course,  was  chagrined  only  when  he  refused 
to  tell  her  about  his  claim,  for  he  always  set  aside 
the  question  with,  "We  cannot  tell  definitely  as  yet." 

"He  is  such  a  cautious,  deliberate  person,"  com- 
plained the  girl  one  day  to  Miss  Ri.  "I  wish  he 
would  show  a  little  more  spontaneity." 

"I  thought  you  admired  his  beautiful  dignity  and 
reserve." 

"Oh,  I  do ;  except  when  I  want  my  curiosity  sat- 


"BEGONE,  DULL  CARE"  215 

isfied,"  laughed  Linda.  "I  don't  doubt  but  that  he 
says  what  he  really  means,  which  is  more  than  can 
be  believed  of  some  persons  I  know." 

Miss  Ri  gave  her  a  sharp,  quick  look,  but  made 
no  comment.  Her  crochet  needle  moved  swiftly  in 
and  out  the  meshes  of  white  wool  she  held.  "Ver- 
linda,"  she  said  presently,  "how  would  you  like  to 
go  up  to  the  city  for  your  holiday  ?  I  invite  you  as 
my  guest.  We  can  get  someone  to  stay  here  in 
the  house  to  keep  Phebe  satisfied,  and  we'll  have  a 
real  rollicking  time  going  to  the  theatre,  shopping, 
seeing  our  friends,  and  giddy-gadding  generally. 
What  do  you  say  to  it?" 

"Oh,  Aunt  Ri,  it  would  be  perfectly  delight- 
ful, but—" 

"But  what?" 

"Won't  it  be  very  expensive?" 

"It  won't  be  too  expensive.  I've  just  had  a  divi- 
dend I  didn't  expect,  and  I  can't  think  of  a  pleas- 
anter  way  of  spending  it.  I  hate  to  go  poking 
around  by  myself,  and  I  don't  know  anyone  whom 
it  would  be  more  real  joy  to  have  with  me." 

"Not  Miss  Parthy?"  ' 

"Oh,  Parthy's  an  old  stick  when  it  comes  to  the 
city.  She  isn't  young  enough,"  Miss  Ri  laughed 
comfortably. 

Linda  sat  bending  over  an  embroidered  piece  she 
was  doing  for  Grace's  Christmas.  There  was  a 
reminiscent  look  on  her  face.  This  would  be  her 


216  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

first  Christmas  since  Martin  died.  It  would  be 
hard  not  to  spend  the  day  as  usual  in  the  old  home, 
and  harder  still  not  to  hear  the  voice  of  him  who 
had  always  made  Christmas  a  happy  day  for  her. 
Yet,  after  all,  it  would  be  less  lonely  with  Miss  Ri, 
for  had  not  the  dear  woman  made  this  a  true  home 
for  her?  It  was  like  her  to  plan  this  outing,  that 
the  girl  might  not  yearn  too  deeply  for  past  joys. 
There  would  not  be  the  old  church  to  decorate,  as 
in  the  years  gone  by,  but  on  Christmas  Eve  she 
could  take  wreaths  to  the  churchyard.  Her 
thoughts  were  far  away  when  Miss  Ri's  voice 
roused  her. 

"Well,  shall  we  go?" 

"If  you  really  think  you  would  enjoy  having  me," 
answered  Linda,  coming  back  to  the  present.  "I 
think  you  are  a  darling  to  ask  me." 

"Of  course  I'd  enjoy  having  you.  We  can  have 
our  Christmas  here — Phebe  would  be  broken- 
hearted if  we  didn't  allow  her  to  cook  our  Christmas 
dinner — and  then  we'll  pack  up  our  duds  and  go. 
I  don't  know  that  I  can  take  you  to  any  big  func- 
tions, but  we  can  have  a  mighty  good  time,  I  truly 
believe.  We  ought  to  have  someone  to  dine  with 
us  on  Christmas  Day  to  make  it  more  festive.  I'd 
ask  Berk,  but  he  wouldn't  miss  spending  the  day 
with  his  mother  for  worlds.  We  might  have 
Parthy  and  Mr.  Jeffreys.  Parthy  hasn't  any  too 


"BEGONE,  DULL  CARE"  217 

good  a  woman  in  the  kitchen,  and  it  would  suit  all 
around;  give  her  a  rest  and  please  the  cook." 

So  it  was  arranged,  and  Linda  looked  forward 
quite  joyously  to  the  ten  days  in  the  city.  Never 
before  had  such  a  treat  been  hers ;  a  few  days  at  a 
time  had  been  the  utmost  of  her  stay.  She  had 
gone  to  her  brother's  wedding,  a  showy  affair  in 
which  she  had  little  heart,  and  had  several  times 
remained  with  a  friend  over  Sunday,  but  this  was 
a  very  different  affair. 

Phebe,  on  being  consulted  as  to  whom  she  would 
prefer  to  look  after  while  the  two  were  absent,  gave 
an  unqualified  vote  for  Mr.  Berk.  "He  so  jokey, 
Miss  Ri,"  she  said,  "an'  he  do  look  at  my  wittles 
lak  he  can't  wait.  Den  he  a  gem'man.  I  laks  to 
wait  on  a  rale  gem'man,  one  o'  de  ole  fambly  kin'. 
Mr.  Jeffs  he  a  gem'man,  too,  I  specs,  but  he  don' 
know  nurfin  how  to  talk  to  us  niggers.  He  so  sol- 
emn, lak  ole  owl,  or  fo'  all  de  worl'  lak  a  preacher. 
He  tas'es  dis  an'  he  tas'es  dat  lak  he  dunno  whe'r 
he  gwine  lak  it  or  no.  Mr.  Berk  he  shake  he  haid 
an'  say,  'Um-um,  dat  sholy  look  good.'  Mr.  Jeffs 
ack  lak  he  feard  somebody  think  he  enjyin'  hisse'f, 
but  Mr.  Berk  thes  pitch  in  an  enjy  hisse'f  'thout 
carin'  what  anybody  think." 

Miss  Ri  laughed  and,  upon  the  occasion  of  her 
next  walk  down'  town,  stopped  at  Berk's  office  to 
ask  if  he  would  take  possession  and  sleep  nights  at 


218  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

her  house  during  the  holidays.  He  responded  with 
alacrity,  promising  to  behave  himself,  but  begging 
that  he  might  be  allowed  to  take  his  meals  at  the 
hotel. 

"And  disappoint  Phebe?  Never!"  cried  Miss 
Ri.  "She  is  counting  upon  feeding  you  up.  I  told 
her  you  were  getting  thin  and  pale  because  they 
didn't  give  you  enough  to  eat  at  the  Jackson  House, 
and  she  is  fairly  aching  to  provide  for  you.  She 
will  have  to  cook  for  herself,  and  why  not  for  you  ? 
Besides,  you  are  her  choice  of  the  whole  townful, 
so  you  should  feel  flattered." 

"I  do,"  returned  Berkley,  "and  very  grateful  to 
both  you  and  her.  I'll  come,  Miss  Ri.  When  do 
you  start?" 

"The  day  after  Christmas.  You'll  be  back  by 
then?" 

"Oh,  yes,  I'll  be  back.  I  shall  go  to  town  only 
for  the  day,  and  must  be  here  for  various  reasons 
as  soon  as  practicable." 

"Then  that  is  settled.  Merry  Christmas,  Berk. 
I  wish  you  could  dine  with  us,  but  I  know  your 
mother's  mind,  and  I  wouldn't  even  suggest  such  a 
thing." 

Miss  Ri's  box  of  books  provided  several  gifts  for 
outsiders,  but  for  Linda  was  a  special  gift  obtained, 
a  fine  soft  evening  cloak,  something  she  did  not  pos- 
sess, and  which  she  would  need  during  her  holiday 
visit.  From  the  new  cousin  came  a  handsome  set 


"BEGONE,  DULL  CARE"  219 

of  books  and  a  box  of  flowers,  the  latter  for  both 
ladies.  A  very  ornate,  wholly  impossible  scarf  of 
coarse  texture  arrived  from  Grace  for  her  sister- 
in-law. 

"It  just  looks  like  her,"  commented  Miss  Ri. 
"You  can  always  tell  underbred  people  by  the  pres- 
ents they  give.  No  lady  would  look  twice  at  a 
thing  like  that.  Why  didn't  she  send  you  one  plain 
fine  handkerchief,  if  she  didn't  want  to  spend  her 
money  for  something  handsome  ?  It  would  at  least 
have  shown  some  refined  taste." 

"I  don't  believe  she  knows  any  better,"  returned 
Linda,  by  way  of  excuse. 

"Exactly,"  replied  Miss  Ri. 

From  Berk  came  merely  a  unostentatious  little 
card  for  Linda,  though  for  Miss  Ri  arrived  a  fine 
potted  plant.  "I'll  allow  you  to  look  at  it,"  re- 
marked the  recipient  with  a  little  laugh. 

Not  even  a  card  found  its  way  from  Linda  to 
Berkley,  though  in  her  upper  drawer  lay  a  half- 
finished  blue  silk  tie.  She  had  stopped  working 
on  it  long  before. 

Mr.  Jeffreys  saw  them  ofT  on  a  cold  twenty-sixth 
of  December.  That  same  evening  Berkley  arrived 
to  take  possession  of  the  room  Miss  Ri  had  told 
Phebe  to  make  ready  for  him.  Phebe,  with  her 
head  tied  up  in  a  new  kerchief,  and  with  an  immacu- 
late expanse  of  white  apron,  was  ready  to  receive 
him,  to  show  him  upstairs  and  to  wait  upon  him 


220  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

hand  and  foot.  She  adored  Linda,  had  great  re- 
spect for  Miss  Ri,  but  "a  rale  young  gem'man" 
awakened  all  the  love  of  service  within  her,  and  if 
he  had  done  the  justice  she  expected  to  the  meal 
she  served,  he  would  probably  have  died  of  indi- 
gestion that  very  night,  and  the  close  of  this  chap- 
ter would  mark  the  end  of  this  tale.  However, 
whether  from  lack  of  appetite  or  for  other  reasons, 
he  ate  with  discretion,  and  then  retired  to  the  sit- 
ting-room, where  he  worked  over  a  budget  of  papers 
till  near  midnight.  With  candle  in  hand,  he  then 
went  upstairs.  As  he  passed  through  the  upper 
hall  he  perceived  the  door  of  a  room  open.  He 
tip-toed  up  to  it,  stood  for  a  moment  on  the  sill, 
then  entered  softly  and  with  the  expression  of  one 
approaching  a  sanctuary.  Phebe  had  removed  all 
suggestion  of  disorder,  but  she  could  not  remove 
the  subtle  reminders  of  a  girlish  presence,  which 
were  suggested  by  the  pictures  on  the  wall,  the 
books  on  the  table,  by  the  little  slippers  peeping 
from  under  the  foot  of  the  lounge.  An  end  of 
ribbon  fluttered  out  from  behind  the  door  of  the 
small  wash-closet,  which  stood  partly  open.  Berk- 
ley gently  lifted  the  satiny  end  and  laid  it  against 
his  cheek,  then  to  his  lips.  After  this,  he  tip-toed 
out  again,  closing  the  door  softly  behind  him.  He 
had  this  once  entered  a  holy  of  holies,  but  he  must 
not  be  tempted  again. 

Meanwhile  Miss  Ri  and  Linda  were  settled  at 


"BEGONE,  DULL  CARE"  221 

their  hotel  and  were  making  plans  for  the  next 
day. 

"I  suppose  I  must  go  to  see  Grace,"  remarked 
Linda. 

"Oh,  not  right  away,"  was  Miss  Ri's  reply. 
"Wait  till  the  memory  of  that  scarf  becomes  a  little 
more  vague,  then  you  will  be  able  to  thank  her  for 
it  with  some  similitude  of  warmth.  In  the  case  of 
that  gift,  it  is  one  of  the  instances  when  'absence 
makes  the  heart  grow  fonder.'  No,  I  have  planned 
what  we  are  to  do  to-morrow.  In  the  morning  we 
will  go  shopping;  in  the  afternoon  we  will  stay  at 
home  and  receive  calls;  in  the  evening  we  will  go 
to  the  theatre." 

"Oh,  but,  Aunt  Ri,  I  haven't  been  going  any- 
where." 

"High  time  you  did.  I  don't  want  you  to  do  any- 
thing that  might  distress  you,  Verlinda,  but  I  think 
a  good  play  or  two  will  do  you  a  world  of  good. 
We  will  look  at  the  paper  and  see  what  is  going  on. 
We  must  hear  some  good  music.  Perhaps  there 
are  to  be  some  good  concerts  at  the  Peabody;  we 
will  find  out.  I  don't  believe  in  persons  making  a 
selfish  indulgence  of  a  sorrow.  I  am  sure  no  one 
more  than  Martin  would  like  you  to  have  a  pleasant, 
cheerful  time.  You  need  it,  and  we  ought  to  do 
what  is  best  for  us." 

"Very  well,"  Linda  acquiesced.  "I  am  in  your 
hands,  Aunt  Ri.  I  will  do  as  you  say." 


222  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

Miss  Ri  looked  pleased.  "That  is  what  I  do  like 
about  you,  Verlinda;  you  are  always  so  sweetly 
reasonable.  'Come,  let's  go  down  to  supper." 

It  was  rather  a  pleasant  sensation  to  be  one  of 
the  company  which  occupied  the  dining-room,  and 
Linda  enjoyed  looking  about  her  quite  as  much  as 
she  did  the  partaking  of  the  excellent  meal.  They 
had  just  finished,  when  suddenly  she  caught  sight 
of  a  party  at  one  of  the  tables  across  the  room. 
"Aunt  Ri,  Aunt  Ri,"  she  said,  turning  toward  her 
companion.  "Who  do  you  think  is  over  there, 
just  across  from  us,  a  little  to  your  rear?  You'll 
have  to  turn  your  head — the  Goldsboroughs. 
Mrs.  Goldsborough,  the  governess,  the  two  little 
girls,  and  an  older  one.  She  must  be  the  debu- 
tante." 

Miss  Ri  turned  her  head,  but  by  this  time  the 
little  girls  had  caught  sight  of  them  and  were  smil- 
ing and  nodding.  "They've  evidently  come  up  for 
the  holidays,"  said  Miss  Ri.  "That  Miss  Carroll 
is  quite  a  pretty  girl,  isn't  she?" 

"Yes,  I  thought  so  when  we  met  her  the  other  day 
at  'Mary's  Delight/  It  was  nice  of  them  to  bring 
her,  wasn't  it?  She  told  me  that  she  was  very 
happy  with  the  Goldsboroughs,  that  the  children 
were  dears,  and  that  she  was  quite  like  a  daughter 
in  the  house." 

"Julia  would  make  her  feel  so.  She  is  one  of  the 
kindest-hearted  women  in  the  world,  and  not  the 


"BEGONE,  DULL  CARE"  223 

least  of  a  snob.  They  are  coming  over  to  speak 
to  us." 

The  two  groups  met  half  way,  and  walked  to  the 
reception  room  together.  Freddy,  the  eldest  daugh- 
ter, was  bound  for  a  theatre  party  and  must  hurry 
away.  "She  was  named  Fredericka,  for  her  grand- 
father," Mrs.  Goldsborough  explained.  The  other 
little  girls,  Julia  and  Mary,  sat  one  each  side  of 
Linda,  on  the  sofa;  Miss  Carroll  drew  up  a  stool 
opposite,  while  Mrs.  Goldsborough  and  Miss  Ri  set- 
tled themselves  further  away  for  a  good  talk. 

There  were  ever  so  many  things  going  on  in  the 
city,  the  girls  told  Linda.  One  of  their  cousins 
was  to  have  a  tea,  another  had  asked  them  to  a  box 
party,  a  third  to  a  small  dance.  "We  won't  be  out 
for  two  or  three  years  yet,"  said  Mary;  "but  we 
shall  have  just  as  good  a  time  as  Fred,  if  she  is  a 
debutante."  Then  there  was  much  talk  of  this  and 
that  one  who  had  come  out  that  season;  of  Fred's 
engagements  and  the  attention  she  was  having,  the 
twittering  chat  which  young  girls  like.  Miss  Car- 
roll smiled  indulgently  at  the  little  chatterers,  but 
once  or  twice  gave  Linda  a  look,  as  much  as  to  say, 
"We  know  what  it  is  worth."  However,  Linda 
enjoyed  this  glimpse  into  a  frivolous  world  and 
went  upstairs  with  Miss  Ri  without  a  thought  to 
sadden  her. 

There  was  a  morning's  shopping,  luncheon  at  a 
quaint  little  place  on  Charles  Street,  a  return  to  the 


224  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

hotel,  an  afternoon  with  the  friends  who  had  been 
notified  of  their  arrival  and  who  called  promptly, 
then  the  theatre,  and  Linda's  first  day  in  the  city 
was  so  full  that  she  dropped  to  sleep  with  never 
a  thought  of  Sandbridge  and  the  friends  there  who 
might  be  missing  her. 

The  next  day  Miss  Ri  reluctantly  consented  to  a 
call  on  Grace.  The  house  where  the  Johnsons 
lived  was  in  a  new,  rather  than  a  fashionable  part 
of  the  city.  The  room  into  which  the  maid  showed 
them  was  pretentiously  furnished,  crowded  with 
ornaments,  ugly  though  expensive,  the  walls  lined 
with  poor  pictures  in  gaudy  frames.  Money  value, 
rather  than  good  taste,  was  the  keynote  of  the  estab- 
lishment, it  was  easily  seen. 

After  keeping  them  waiting  for  some  time,  Grace 
swept  in  wearing  a  new  gown  tinkling  with  jets 
and  redolent  with  sachet.  She  made  many  apolo- 
gies for  having  kept  them  waiting.  "Such  a  sur- 
prise. So  sorry  I  couldn't  have  known."  She  had 
been  up  so  late  the  night  before,  and  the  rest  of  it. 
Were  they  up  for  a  shopping  expedition?  There 
were  so  many  good  bargains  after  the  holidays. 

She  lifted  her  eyebrows  and  viewed  Linda  with 
surprise  when  told  why  they  had  come,  where  they 
were  staying,  and  how  long  they  intended  to  re- 
main. She  could  not  quite  understand  why  Miss 
Ri  should  have  invited  anyone  so  uninteresting  as 
she  conceived  her  sister-in-law  to  be.  Yet  she  did 


HE    HAS    GIVEN    ME    THE    DEAREST    RING. 


"BEGONE,  DULL  CARE"  225 

not  voice  her  opinion,  but  only  said  gushingly,  "Oh, 
then  you'll  be  able  to  meet  the  dear  Major.  I  do 
so  want  you  to  know  him,  Miss  Hill,  and  you,  too, 
Linda.  Of  course,  the  engagement  cannot  be  an- 
nounced except  to  the  family,  but  he  has  given  me 
the  dearest  ring,  which  I  do  not  wear  in  public, 
naturally."  She  stretched  out  her  plump  hand  and 
displayed  the  solitaire  with  much  satisfaction. 

There  was  some  talk  upon  trifling  matters,  then 
Grace,  turning  to  Linda,  said,  "Oh,  by  the  way, 
what  about  that  Mr.  Jeffreys?  I  had  a  note  from 
Mr.  Matthews  a  few  days  ago,  and  he  tells  me  there 
is  a  claimant  for  Talbot's  Angles,  and  that  he  is 
going  to  law  about  it.  Mr.  Matthews  asked  me  if 
I  knew  of  any  old  papers  which  might  be  in  the 
house  down  there.  I  told  him  Mr.  Phillips  had 
the  key  and  he  would  go  with  him  to  see  what  could 
be  found.  It  would  be  sad,  would  it  not,  Miss  Hill, 
if,  after  my  effort  to  do  what  would  seem  best  for 
Linda,  the  property  should  pass  into  other  hands?" 

"Talbot's  Angles?  Are  you  sure  it  is  Talbot's 
Angles  ?"  asked  Linda.  "We  have  always  thought 
it  must  be  Addition,  or  even  Timber  Neck." 

"No,  I  am  quite  sure  it  is  the  Angles.  Of  course, 
that  is  the  most  valuable  of  the  three  places  now, 
though  the  Major  says  none  of  them  are  worth  so 
very  much ;  but  then  he  has  such  large  ideas.  The 
amount  at  which  we  value  the  place  would  be  a 
mere  bagatelle  to  him." 


226  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

The  call  was  short.  Miss  Ri  could  not  stand 
much  of  Grace,  but  they  were  urged  to  come  soon 
again  and  to  come  in  the  evening,  when  the  dear 
Major  would  be  there.  Grace  was  invited  to  have 
tea  with  the  two  at  their  hotel,  an  invitation  which 
she  accepted  eagerly,  and  then  the  callers  left. 

"Aunt  Ri,"  began  Linda  as  soon  as  they  had 
turned  from  the  house,  "did  you  dream  it  was  Tal- 
bot's  Angles?" 

"Why,  yes,  dear;  I  half  suspected  it  all  the  time." 

"Why?" 

"From  the  way  those  two,  Berk  and  Mr.  Jef- 
reys,  acted." 

"And  that  is  why  you  wanted  to  consult  Judge 
Goldsborough  ?" 

"Yes,  that  was  why." 

"But  he  says  there  is  not  a  shred  of  proof." 

"He  said  so  at  first.  Later,  he  was  not  so  sure 
but  there  might  be  complications." 

"I  understand."  Linda  was  silent  for  some  time; 
then  she  spoke  again,  following  out  her  thoughts: 
"Aunt  Ri,  do  you  think  that  is  why  Berk  has 
avoided  me?  Do  you  think  he  has  known  all  this 
time?" 

Miss  Ri  hesitated  before  she  made  answer.  "It 
may  be  that,  Verlinda." 

Linda  gave  a  little  sigh.  "I  am  sorry  he  had  to 
feel  that  way  about  it.  I  wouldn't  have  blamed 


"BEGONE,  DULL  CARE"  227 

him,  for  he  was  not  to  blame,  was  he  ?  He  couldn't 
help  it." 

"Not  unless  he  chose  to  be  disloyal  to  Mr.  Jef- 
freys and  dishonorable  altogether." 

"And  that  he  could  never  be.  We  know  that, 
don't  we,  Aunt  Ri?  Shall  we  see  his  sister  and 
mother,  do  you  think?" 

"I  am  sure  we  shall.  I  wrote  to  Mrs.  Matthews 
that  we  were  coming." 

No  more  was  said  on  the  subject  just  then;  but, 
in  thinking  it  over  in  the  seclusion  of  her  room,  it 
dawned  upon  Miss  Ri  that  Linda  was  much  more 
concerned  for  Berkley's  part  in  the  transaction  than 
in  her  own  loss  of  the  property.  "Well,"  she  ex- 
claimed, sitting  down  to  face  the  situation,  "this  is 
a  revelation.  How  on  earth  is  it  going  to  end  now, 
I'd  like  to  know." 


CHAPTER   XVII 

AS   WATER   UNTO    WINE 

The  time  passed  as  gaily  as  Miss  Ri  meant  it 
should:  in  receiving  and  returning  calls,  in  a  little 
sight-seeing,  in  shopping,  lunching,  dining,  a  mod- 
erate amount  of  theatre-going.  There  was  a  visit 
to  the  old  low-roofed,  grey-shingled  market  one 
Saturday  evening,  when  the  Goldsborough  girls, 
with  their  governess,  begged  Miss  Ri  and  Linda  to 
join  them  in  a  frolic. 

"We  want  to  buy  taffy,"  they  said,  "and  see  the 
funny  people.  Do  go  with  us;  it  will  be  so  jolly." 
The  expedition  was  quite  to  Miss  Ri's  taste  and, 
that  Linda  might  have  the  experience,  she  urged  the 
going.  A  merry  time  they  all  had  of  it,  pushing 
their  way  from  one  end  of  the  long  market-house 
to  the  other,  and  then  parading  up  and  down  out- 
side, where  the  country  people,  with  their  wagons, 
exhibited  their  wares  on  tables  improvised  from  a 
couple  of  barrels  with  boards  laid  across.  A  little 
of  anything  that  might  be  salable  was  offered,  from 
bunches  of  dried  herbs  to  fat  turkeys. 

"It  hasn't  changed  a  particle  since  I  was  a  little 
girl,"  declared  Miss  Ri.  "My  uncle  used  to  take 

228 


AS  WATER  UNTO  WINE  229 

me  to  market  with  him  before  breakfast  on  summer 
mornings,  and  would  buy  me  a  glass  of  ice  cream 
from  that  very  stand,"  she  designated  one  with  a 
bee-hive  on  its  sign.  "I  wonder  how  I  could  eat 
such  a  thing  so  early  in  the  morning,  though  then 
I  thought  it  a  great  treat.  On  Saturday  evenings 
in  winter  he  always  brought  home  a  parcel  of  taffy, 
which  tasted  exactly  as  this  does  which  we  have 
bought  to-night.  And  my  aunt,  I  can  see  her  now 
with  a  colored  boy  walking  behind  her  carrying  a 
huge  basket,  while  she  had  a  tiny  one  in  which  to 
bring  home  special  dainties." 

"That  custom  isn't  altogether  done  away  with 
yet,"  Miss  Carroll  told  her.  "Some  of  the  good  old 
housekeepers  still  cling  to  their  little  baskets." 

"And  a  good  thing,  too,"  asserted  Miss  Ri. 

One  afternoon,  Grace  brought  her  Major  to  call, 
and  they  found  him  to  be  a  stout,  elderly  man,  rather 
florid,  a  little  consequential,  but  quite  genial  and 
polite,  and  evidently  very  proud  of  his  young 
fiancee. 

"He's  not  so  bad,"  commented  Miss  Ri, 
"although  he  is  not  of  our  stripe.  I  was  sure  he 
could  not  be  a  West  Point  man,  and  he  isn't.  He 
served  in  the  Spanish  War  for  a  short  time,  he  told 
me.  However,  I  don't  doubt  that  it  is  going  to  be 
a  perfectly  satisfactory  marriage.  He  likes  flat- 
tery, and  Grace  is  an  adept  in  bestowing  it." 

Mrs.    Matthews   and   her   daughter,    Margaret 


230  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

Edmondson,  were  among  the  very  first  to  call  and 
to  offer  an  invitation  to  luncheon.  "We  shall  not 
make  a  stranger  of  you  any  more  than  of  Maria," 
said  Mrs.  Matthews,  taking  Linda's  hands  in  hers. 
"I  remember  you  so  well  as  a  little  bit  of  a  girl, 
of  whom  Berkley  was  always  ready  to  make  a  play- 
mate when  you  came  to  town.  My  first  recollec- 
tion of  you  is  when  I  brought  Berkie  over  at  Miss 
Ri's  request.  You  were  no  more  than  three  and  he 
was  perhaps  six  or  seven.  You  looked  at  him  for 
a  long  time  with  those  big  blue  eyes  of  yours,  and 
then  you  said,  'Boy,  take  me  to  see  the  chickens/ 
You  liked  to  peep  through  the  fence  at  Miss  Parthy's 
fowls,  but  were  not  allowed  to  go  that  far  alone, 
you  were  such  a  little  thing.  From  that  day  Berkie 
was  always  asking  when  Miss  Ri's  little  girl  was 
coming  back,  for  you  left  that  same  evening." 

Miss  Ri  looked  at  Linda.  Her  face  was  flushed 
and  her  eyes  downcast. 

"I  shouldn't  be  surprised,"  put  in  Margaret,  "if 
Berk  were  wishing  now  that  Miss  Ri's  little  girl 
would  come  back." 

Linda  withdrew  her  hand  from  Mrs.  Matthews' 
clasp  and  turned  from  the  gentle  face,  whose  eyes 
were  searching  hers.  "Oh,  you  are  mistaken,  Mrs. 
Edmondson,"  she  said  hurriedly.  "Berk  and  I  very 
seldom  see  one  another ;  in  fact,  I  have  not  laid  eyes 
on  him  for  weeks." 

"He's  working  too  hard,"  said  Mrs.  Matthews, 


AS  WATER  UNTO  WINE  231 

turning  to  Miss  Ri.  "I  thought  he  looked  thin  and 
careworn  when  he  was  last  here.  I  wish  you  all 
would  advise  him  not  to  overwork.  He  values  your 
advice  very  highly,  Maria." 

"We  all  think  he  is  working  too  hard,"  returned 
Miss  Ri,  "but  if  he  listens  to  anyone,  it  will  be  his 
mother.  I  never  knew  a  more  devoted  son." 

"He  is  indeed,"  replied  Mrs.  Matthews.  "Maria, 
I  hate  to  have  him  in  that  comfortless  hotel ;  he  was 
always  such  a  home  boy." 

"Come,  Mother,  come,"  broke  in  Mrs.  Edmond- 
son.  "Miss  Ri,  if  you  get  mother  started  on  the 
subject  of  Berk,  she  will  stand  and  talk  all  day. 
We  shall  expect  you  both  on  Thursday.  Take  the 
car  to  Cold  Spring  Lane  and  you  will  not  have  far 
to  walk." 

The  callers  departed  and  though  Linda  said  little 
of  them,  Miss  Ri  noticed  that  she  made  no  protest 
against  the  trip  to  the  pretty  suburb  where  they 
lived.  She  had  not  been  so  ready  on  other  occa- 
sions. 

Mrs.  Edmondson,  proud  of  her  pretty  new  house, 
was  ready  to  show  off  its  conveniences  and  com- 
forts, and  to  discourse  upon  the  delights  of  living 
in  a  place  which  was  not  city  and  yet  was  accessible 
to  all  that  one  desired,  for  it  was  not  half  an  hour 
by  trolley  to  the  center  of  the  town.  Her  husband, 
a  young  business  man,  was  making  his  way  rapidly, 
Mrs.  Matthews  told  Miss  Ri  with  pride.  "And  he 


232  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

is  a  good  son  to  me,"  she  added,  "so  I  shall  never 
want  for  a  home  while  I  have  three  children. 
Margie  insists  that  I  shall  never  leave  her;  but, 
unless  Berkley  marries,  I  think  I  should  make  a 
home  for  him.  I  can't  have  him  living  in  a  hotel 
all  his  life."  Then  followed  anecdotes  of  Berkley, 
of  this  act  of  self-denial,  that  evidence  of  devotion. 
"You  know,  Maria,  that  he  is  exactly  like  his  father. 
The  Doctor  always  thought  of  himself  last." 

"Mother,  dear,"  interrupted  Margaret,  "they 
didn't  come  to  hear  Berk  eulogized,  but  to  see  your 
pretty  room.  Come,  Linda,  let  us  leave  them. 
Miss  Ri  is  almost  as  bad  as  she  is  when  it  comes  to 
Berk."  She  put  her  arm  around  Linda  and  drew 
her  away,  whispering,  "Mother  thinks  I  am  jealous, 
but  I  am  not  a  bit ;  I  only  don't  want  her  to  get  the 
notion  that  she  must  leave  me  and  go  back  to  Sand- 
bridge.  After  all  Berk  has  done  for  us,  I  think 
he  ought  to  have  his  chance  to  get  ahead,  and  the 
very  least  I  can  do  is  to  try  to  make  mother  happy 
here  with  me.  Herbert  agrees  with  me.  I  wish 
Berk  had  a  home  of  his  own,  and  then  mother  would 
be  satisfied." 

The  two  younger  women  went  off  to  view  other 
parts  of  the  house,  while  their  elders  talked  of  those 
things  nearest  their  hearts.  They  were  old  friends 
and  had  much  in  common.  Margaret  was  a  sweet 
womanly  person,  not  a  beauty,  but  fresh  and  fair 
and  good  to  look  upon,  with  the  same  honest  grey 


AS  WATER  UNTO  WINE  233 

eyes  as  her  brother's,  and  the  same  sturdy  frank- 
ness of  manner.  Linda  thought  her  a  trifle  expan- 
sive, till  she  realized  that  herself  was  anything  but 
a  stranger,  in  spite  of  the  fact  that  she  had  not  met 
these  two  since  she  was  a  little  girl. 

"I  am  glad  I  wasn't  brought  up  within  hail  of 
the  monument,"  said  Margaret  as  she  exhibited  her 
spick  and  span  kitchen.  <ll  should  hate  to  be  de- 
prived of  the  privileges  of  my  own  kitchen,  and  I 
shouldn't  like  to  believe  I  must  live  on  certain  streets 
or  be  a  Pariah.  There  is  too  much  of  that  feeling 
in  this  blessed  old  city,  and  I  must  say  our  Cavalier 
ancestors  did  give  us  pleasure-loving  natures  as  an 
inheritance.  Half  the  girls  I  know  are  pretty  and 
sweet  and  amiable,  but  they  never  read  anything  but 
trash,  think  of  nothing  but  wearing  pretty  clothes 
and  of  having  a  good  time.  However,  I  think  they 
do  make  good  wives  and  mothers  when  it  comes  to 
settling  down.  Someone  said  to  me  the  other  day, 
that  Southern  girls  married  only  for  love  and  that 
poverty  came  in  at  the  door  to  mock  them  for  being 
so  silly  as  to  think  any  marriage  was  better  than 
none;  that  they  didn't  mind  love  flying  out  of  the 
window  half  so  much  as  they  did  going  to  their 
graves  unmarried.  There  may  be  some  truth  in 
that,  but  I  think  they  are  generally  pretty  con- 
tented and  are  satisfied  to  take  life  as  it  comes." 

Margaret  was  a  great  chatterer,  and  was  de- 
lighted to  get  Linda  to  herself,  to  air  her  own  views 


234  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

and  to  learn  of  Linda's.  "Aren't  you  glad,  Linda," 
she  went  on,  "that  you  are  making  a  place  for  your- 
self in  the  world?  Berk  has  often  said  that  you 
were  quite  different  from  most  of  the  girls  he  knew, 
and  that  he  wished  we  could  be  good  friends.  He 
says  you  can  talk  of  other  things  than  dress  and 
gossip,  and  that  you  are  quite  domestic.  Are  you 
domestic?" 

"Why" — Linda  paused  to  consider — "yes,  I  think 
I  am.  I  like  to  keep  house.  I  did  for  my  brother, 
you  know ;  yet  I  like  a  good  time  and  pretty  clothes 
as  much  as  anyone." 

"Of  course.  So  do  I.  But  you  care  for  other 
things,  too.  Berk  thinks  you  are  so  wonderful  to 
write  so  well,  and  to  get  along  so  successfully  with 
your  teaching." 

Linda  made  a  little  grimace.  "Berk  is  very  kind 
to  say  so,  but  that  is  something  for  which  I  do  not 
feel  myself  fitted  and  which  I  really  do  not  enjoy." 

"So  much  the  more  credit  for  doing  it  well. 
Linda,  you  must  come  to  the  Club  while  you  are 
here.  I  know  you  would  enjoy  it.  Mother  and  I 
both  belong.  There  is  another  and  more  fashion- 
able literary  club,  but  we  like  ours  much  the  best. 
The  real  workers  are  members  of  it,  not  the  make- 
believes.  It  meets  every  Tuesday  afternoon.  We 
must  arrange  for  you  to  go  with  us,  and  Miss  Ri 
must  come,  too."  Here  the  elder  women  entered, 
and  Miss  Ri  reminded  Linda  that  they  were  to  go 


AS  WATER  UNTO  WINE  235 

to  a  tea  on  their  way  home,  so  they  departed,  Linda 
and  Margaret  parting  like  old  friends. 

The  tea  was  a  quiet  little  affair  which  Linda  had 
promised  Miss  Ri  to  attend,  as  it  was  at  the  house 
of  one  of  the  latter's  particular  friends,  and  here 
they  lingered  till  dinner  time.  As  they  were  going 
to  their  rooms  a  card  was  handed  them.  Miss  Ri 
raised  her  lorgnette  to  read  the  name.  "Mr.  Jef- 
freys has  been  here,"  she  exclaimed. 

"The  genTman  say  he  be  back  this  evenin',"  the 
elevator  boy  told  them. 

"Humph!"  Miss  Ri  looked  at  Linda.  "Were 
we  going  anywhere  to-night?" 

"No.  You  remember  that  we  said  we  would  be 
going  all  day  and  that  we'd  better  stay  in  and  rest." 

"Then  rest  shall  I,  and  you  can  see  the  young 
man.  Now,  no  protests ;  I  am  not  going  down  one 
step.  I  can  trust  you  to  go  unchaperoned  this  once, 
I  should  think.  I  don't  feel  like  talking  to  him.  I 
have  been  talking  all  day." 

Therefore  Linda  went  down  alone  when  the 
young  man  was  announced,  to  find  him  sitting  in 
a  little  alcove,  waiting  for  her.  He  was  in  correct 
evening  dress  and  looked  well.  Linda  had  never 
seen  him  so  carefully  attired  and  could  but  acknowl- 
edge that  there  was  a  certain  elegance  in  the  tall, 
dignified  figure,  and  that  he  looked  quite  as  distin- 
guished as  any  man  she  had  met.  She,  herself,  was 
all  in  white,  Miss  Ri  having  persuaded  her  that 


236  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

such  a  dress  was  as  appropriate  as  her  frocks  of 
black.  She  looked  very  charming,  thought  the 
young  man,  who  rose  to  meet  her,  and  his  manner 
was  slightly  more  genial  than  usual. 

"It  seems  a  very  long  time  since  I  saw  you,  Miss 
Linda,"  he  said. 

"Only  a  week,"  returned  Linda,  seating  herself 
on  a  low  divan,  her  skirts  making  soft  billows 
around  her. 

"You  have  enjoyed  yourself  and  the  time  has 
passed  very  quickly,  I  presume." 

"Very  quickly.  We  have  had  a  delightful  week. 
And  you?" 

"There  have  been  festivities  in  Sandbridge  from 
which  you  were  missed." 

"And  to  which,  probably,  I  should  not  have  gone. 
No  piece  of  news  of  any  importance?" 

"One  which  will  interest  you  and  which  I  came 
to  tell  you  of." 

He  hesitated  so  long  that  Linda,  to  help  him  out, 
began,  "And  the  news  is — " 

"About  my  claim."  He  hesitated,  as  if  finding 
it  very  hard  to  go  on. 

"Oh,  I  think  I  can  anticipate  what  you  have  to 
say,"  rejoined  Linda  easily.  "My  sister-in-law  has 
told  me  that  it  is  Talbot's  Angles  to  which  your 
papers  refer.  Is  that  true?" 

"It  is." 


AS  WATER  UNTO  WINE  237 

"And  have  you  established  your  facts?"  Linda 
asked  the  question  steadily. 

"Not  perfectly;  although  the  past  week  has  given 
us  some  extra  proof  in  the  papers  found  at  the 
house  itself.  Among  them  we  found  some  receipts 
given  by  Cyrus  Talbot  to  the  tenant  for  rent.  They 
read:  'Received  from  John  Briggs  one  quarter's 
rent  for  Talbot's  Angles/  so  much,  and  are  signed 
by  Cyrus  Talbot." 

"By  'us'  you  mean  Mr.  Matthews  and  yourself  ?" 

"Yes,  it  is  through  his  efforts  that  we  are  able 
to  get  so  much  evidence  as  we  have." 

"I  see."  There  was  silence  for  a  moment. 
Linda  sat  perfectly  still  and,  except  that  she  nerv- 
ously played  with  a  ring  on  her  finger,  appeared 
unmoved. 

Mr.  Jeffreys  watched  her  for  a  moment,  then  he 
leaned  forward.  "Miss  Linda,"  he  began,  "I  know 
how  you  must  feel,  and  it  pains  me  beyond  expres- 
sion to  bring  you  news  that  must  be  disappointing 
to  you,  but — "  he  halted  in  his  precise  speech,  "but 
you  need  not  lose  your  old  home,  if  you  will  take 
the  claimant  with  it." 

Linda  lifted  startled  eyes. 

The  young  man  went  on:  "I  have  thought  the 
matter  over  and  while  I  could  not  consider  it  expe- 
dient to  live  on  the  place,  I  would  not  sell  it  unless 
you  wished,  and  would  always,  under  any  circum- 


238  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

stances,  reserve  the  house,  that  you  might  still  con- 
sider it  your  home." 

Linda  laughed  a  little  wildly.  "It  seems  that  is 
always  the  way  of  it.  I  am  merely  to  consider  it 
my  home  in  every  case." 

He  drew  nearer  and  took  her  hand.  "Then,  will 
you  accept  it  as  I  offer  it  ?  With  myself  ?  I  would 
try  to  make  you  happy.  I  think  if  I  had  the  stim- 
ulus of  your  companionship,  I  could  succeed.  We 
could  make  our  home  in  Hartford,  and  you  could 
return  to  Maryland  when  it  pleased  you  each  year. 
I  have  just  received  an  offer  from  an  insurance 
company.  They  wish  to  send  me  to  England  on 
business,  and  on  my  return  they  give  me  the  prom- 
ise of  such  a  position  as  will  insure  me  a  future." 

"It  is  in  Hartford?" 

"Yes;  and  it  is  a  lovely  city,  you  know." 

"Where,  as  in  Sandbridge,  they  are  always  ready 
to  welcome  strangers  cordially?  I  think  I  have 
heard  how  very  spontaneous  they  are  up  there,  quite 
expansive  and  eager  to  make  newcomers  feel  at 
home."  She  spoke  with  sarcastic  emphasis. 

"Of  course,  my  friends  would  welcome  you,"  re- 
turned Mr.  Jeffreys  a  little  stiffly.  "Dear  Miss 
Linda,"  he  continued  more  fervently,  "don't  get  the 
idea  that  there  are  no  warm  hearts  in  the  North 
because  you  have  heard  of  some  cold  ones.  Once 
you  know  the  people,  none  could  be  better  friends. 
I  would  try  to  make  you  happy.  Will  you  believe 


AS  WATER  UNTO  WINE  239 

me  when  I  say  that  you  are  the  first  woman  I  have 
ever  wished  to  make  my  wife?" 

"Yes,  I  believe  you."     She  smiled  a  little. 

"Please  think  it  over.  I  would  rather  not  have 
my  answer  now.  I  know  there  is  much  to  bewilder 
you,  and  I  would  rather  you  did  not  give  me  an 
impulsive  reply.  I  will  not  pursue  the  subject.  I 
will  come  to-morrow.  I  would  much  rather  wait." 

"Thank  you  for  your  consideration,"  returned 
Linda.  "I  will  think  it  over,  Mr.  Jeffreys.  It  is 
only  right  that  I  should.  Must  you  go?" 

"I  think  so.  May  I  come  to-morrow  afternoon? 
At  what  hour?" 

"About  five.  We  have  an  engagement  in  the 
evening." 

He  arose,  took  her  hand,  pressed  it  gently  and 
said  earnestly,  "I  beg  that  you  will  remember  that 
it  would  be  my  dearest  wish  to  make  you  my  wife 
under  any  circumstances." 

"I  will  remember,"  returned  Linda. 

"Please  give  my  regards  to  Miss  Hill,"  continued 
Mr.  Jeffreys,  taking  up  his  hat.  "I  owe  her  a  debt 
of  thanks  for  giving  me  this  opportunity  of  seeing 
you  alone."  And  he  bowed  himself  out. 

There  were  but  few  persons  in  the  large  draw- 
ing-room, and  they  had  been  quite  sequestered  in 
their  little  alcove.  Linda  returned  to  her  seat,  and 
lingered  there,  thinking,  thinking.  Presently  she 
smiled  and  whispered  to  herself,  "He  never  once 


240  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

said  he  loved,  never  once.  'As  moonlight  unto  sun- 
light, and  as  water  unto  wine/  "  she  murmured 
musingly.  So  he  would  marry  her  and  take  her  to 
his  city,  where  there  would  be  no  Aunt  Ri,  no  warm- 
hearted neighbors  to  welcome  her  with  cordial  em- 
phasis, as  there  would  be  when  she  went  back  to 
Sandbridge.  Nevermore  the  flat,  level  roads,  the 
little  salt  rivers,  the  simple  every-day  intercourse  of 
friend  with  friend,  the  easy-going  unambitious  way 
of  living,  the  smiling  content.  Instead,  the  eager 
struggle  for  greater  ostentation  and  luxury,  which 
she  saw  even  in  the  city  where  she  now  was;  the 
cold,  calculating  stares  from  utter  strangers,  when 
she  went  among  them,  interest  lacking,  affection 
wanting.  But  on  the  other  hand,  she  would  come 
back  to  her  old  home  every  year,  and  it  would  be 
truly  hers.  But  how  hard  it  would  be  to  go  from 
it  again!  And  after  a  while  she  would  be  coming 
less  and  less  frequently.  She  would  grow  reticent 
and  unapproachable.  Repression  would  silently 
work  the  change  in  her.  She  would  have  the  op- 
portunity  of  pouring  out  her  thoughts  on  paper, 
to  be  sure,  but — so  she  would  at  home.  "No,  no, 
no,"  she  cried;  "I'd  rather  a  thousand  times  teach 
my  restless  boys  for  the  remainder  of  my  life.  I 
don't  love  him,  and  that  is  exactly  what  is  wrong. 
Where  he  lives  has  nothing  to  do  with  it.  Good- 
bye, Talbot's  Angles.  You  were  never  mine,  and 
you  never  will  be  now." 


AS  WATER  UNTO  WINE  241 

She  went  to  her  room,  tip-toeing  gently  that  Miss 
Ri  might  not  hear  her  in  the  adjoining  one.  She 
slipped  quietly  into  a  chair  near  the  window  and 
gave  herself  up  to  her  thoughts.  She  must  not 
let  Miss  Ri  think  her  caller  had  remained  so  short 
a  time,  and  the  dear  woman  must  not  be  told  of 
what  had  occurred.  When  she  heard  a  stirring 
around  in  the  next  room,  she  knocked  on  the  door, 
which  was  quickly  opened  to  her. 

"Well,  child,  has  your  young  man  gone?"  came 
the  query.  "What  did  he  have  to  say?" 

"He  told  me  the  same  thing  Grace  did  about  Tal- 
bot's  Angles." 

"He  did  ?  The  wretch !  .  .  .  Linda,  why  did 
we  ever  treat  him  so  well  ?  He  doesn't  deserve  it." 

"Why,  Aunt  Ri,  he  can't  help  being  the  great- 
grandson  of  Cyrus  Talbot." 

"He  could  help  coming  down  here  and  stirring 
up  all  this  fuss." 

"He  sent  his  regards  to  you." 

"I  don't  want  them.     Wrhat  else  did  he  say?" 

"It  appears  that  they  have  some  new  evidence, 
found  in  the  paper  which  Grace  directed  them  to. 
Some  old  receipts  which  seem  to  establish  the  fact 
that  Cyrus  Talbot  really  did  have  the  right  to  rent 
the  place  to  a  certain  John  Briggs.  I  don't  know 
how  these  receipts  came  into  the  possession  of  our 
branch  of  the  family,  but  probably  Briggs  gave 
them  to  our  great-grandfather  to  keep  safely.  At 


242  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

all  events,  Berkley  Matthews  and  Mr.  Jeffreys  have 
worked  it  all  out." 

"I  don't  see  how  Berkley  could  have  the  con- 
science. It  is  outrageous  for  him  to  be  party  to 
a  scheme  for  defrauding  an  orphan  girl." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Ri,  you  mustn't  say  it  is  defrauding; 
it  is  just  legal  rights.  We  may  have  been  defraud- 
ing them." 

"We'll  see  whether  it  is  so  or  not.  Judge  Golds- 
borough  was  so  sure;  but  then  I  suppose  all  these 
things  were  not  known  to  him.  I  wish  we  could 
hear  from  him  and  learn  what  he  has  discovered  in 
the  papers  he  holds." 

"We  shall,  in  good  time.  Meanwhile,  what  dif- 
ference does  it  make?  I  am  used  to  having  the 
place  belong  to  someone  else,  and  I  am  growing 
content  to  spend  my  days  in  teaching.  I  shall  even 
be  glad  to  get  back  to  my  boys." 

Miss  Ri  swung  around  sharply  and  took  the 
girl's  face  between  her  hands.  "Verlinda,  Ver- 
linda,"  she  said,  "I  wish  I  could  turn  a  search-light 
on  that  heart  of  yours?" 

"Why,  Aunt  Ri?" 

"Oh,  because,  because,  a  woman's  reason."  Then 
she  put  her  arms  around  the  girl  and  hugged  her 
close  to  her  ample  night-dress.  "You  are  a  darling 
child.  Teach  as  long  as  you  like;  it  will  be  so 
much  the  better  for  me  than  seeing  you  go  off  to 
Hartford." 


AS  WATER  UNTO  WINE  243 

Linda  felt  the  color  rise  to  her  face.  "How  do 
you  know  that  opportunity  will  ever  be  afforded 
me?"  she  asked  lightly. 

"If  it  hasn't  been,  it  will.  How  did  that  miser- 
able usurper  look?" 

"Very  handsome;  in  quite  correct  evening  dress, 
which  suited  him  perfectly.  Aunt  Ri,  it  would  be 
a  privilege  to  sit  opposite  such  a  fine-looking  man 
three  times  a  day  for  the  rest  of  my  life." 

"It  would,  would  it?  and  have  to  use  a  knife  to 
dissect  him  before  you  could  find  out  what  he  really 
felt  about  anything?  And  even  then  you  wouldn't 
discover  a  thing  in  his  veins  but  ice-water." 

Linda  laughed.  "You  can  be  the  most  vehement 
person  for  one  who  pretends  to  be  so  mild  and 
serene.  I  notice  that  where  those  you  love  are  con- 
cerned, you  are  anything  but  mild,  bless  your  dear 
heart.  Don't  be  scared,  Aunt  Ri;  I'll  never  leave 
Sandbridge,  never.  I'll  never  leave  the  dear  old 
Eastern  Shore  for  anyone.  No,  indeed." 

"Who  is  vehement  now,  Verlinda  Talbot  ?  I  ver- 
ily believe  that  man  has  proposed  to  you.  I  am 
convinced  of  it.  Oh,  my  dear,  maybe  after  all  you 
ought  to  consider  him,  for  that  would  settle  it  all. 
You  could  live  in  the  old  home  and  be  happy  ever 
after,  only,  Verlinda,  Verlinda,  what  would  become 
of  Berk?" 

Linda  gave  a  little  smothered  cry  and  Miss  Ri 
felt  the  slender  figure  quivering,  though  quite 


244  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

steadily  came  the  words,  "We  can't  take  Berk  into 
consideration,  Aunt  Ri;  he  is  fighting  with  all  his 
might  for  Mr.  Jeffreys,  and  so  far  as  I  am  con- 
cerned, he  doesn't  think  of  me  at  all — in  any  direc- 
tion." 

"I  don't  believe  it,"  returned  Miss  Ri.  "I  admit 
he  is  an  enigma,  but  I  don't  believe  a  word  of  his 
not  thinking  of  you.  I've  talked  to  his  mother," 
she  added  triumphantly. 

After  that  not  a  word  would  she  say  on  the  sub- 
ject, but  sent  Linda  off  to  bed,  and  if  the  girl  needed 
anything  to  fix  her  decision  regarding  Mr.  Jeffreys, 
it  is  possible  that  Miss  Ri's  last  words  helped  to 
the  conclusion. 


CHAPTER   XVIII 

THE  DELIBERATE  CONSCIENCE 

In  spite  of  having  already  made  up  her  mind 
when  she  left  Miss  Ri,  Linda  conscientiously  de- 
voted an  hour's  serious  thought  to  the  subject  of 
Wyatt  Jeffreys ;  for  she  told  herself  that  it  was  only 
fair  to  him.  She  took  down  her  hair,  wrapped 
herself  in  a  dressing-gown,  and  gave  herself  up  to 
contemplation.  "It  wouldn't  be  so  hard,"  she 
thought,  drawing  her  brows  together,  "if  he  had 
determined  to  live  at  Talbot's  Angles,  for  I  should 
at  least  have  my  old  home." 

"And  see  Berkley  Matthews  whenever  you  went 
to  town,"  something  whispered. 

"Oh,  well,"  the  argument  came  as  if  in  reply, 
"would  that  be  any  worse  than  it  will  be  now  when 
I  have  to  stay  in  town  and  run  the  risk  of  meeting 
him  at  any  time?" 

"But  now  there  is  a  little  hope,"  again  came  the 
inward  voice. 

"There  isn't!  there  isn't!"  Linda  contradicted. 
"I  can't  believe  there  is.  Look  how  he  has  acted: 
avoiding  me  openly,  sending  me  only  a  little  trifling 
card  at  Christmas,  taking  up  this  case  which 

245 


246  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

defies  my  rights.  Tell  me  such  a  thing?  It  is 
not  so." 

"But  Miss  Ri  has  talked  to  his  mother.  Mar- 
garet herself  told  you  that  Berk  never  wearied  of 
sounding  your  praises." 

"That  is  all  a  blind.  He  doesn't  care;  he 
couldn't,  and  act  as  he  is  doing."  She  resolutely 
shut  her  ears  to  the  voice  of  the  charmer  and  turned 
her  attention  to  the  other  claimant  to  regard.  He 
had  many  fine  qualities,  but  comparisons  would  crop 
up.  Mr.  Jeffreys  had  praised  her  work  and  had 
congratulated  her  upon  appearing  in  print;  but  it 
was  more  on  account  of  the  recognition,  than  be- 
cause of  what  she  wrote.  Berk,  on  the  other  hand, 
perceived  the  spirit  rather  than  the  commercial 
value.  She  had  shown  both  men  other  little  writ- 
ings; Berk  had  commented  upon  the  thought,  the 
originality  of  some  fancy;  Mr.  Jeffreys  had  praised 
the  metre,  or  the  quality  which  would  make  it 
marketable.  "There  is  the  difference,"  thought 
Linda;  "Mr.  Jeffreys  does  not  lack  intellectual 
perception  but  Berk  has  a  spiritual  one.  I  saw 
deep  into  that  one  day  when  I  was  talking  to  him 
about  Martin.  He  may  be  flippant  and  boyish  on 
the  surface,  but  back  of  it  all  there  is  that  in  his 
soul  which  can  penetrate  behind  the  stars.  If  he 
loved  anyone  he  would  not  care  for  her  looks,  her 
position,  her  wealth,  or  for  anything  but  just  her 
individual  self.  Mr.  Jeffreys  would  weigh  the 


THE  DELIBERATE  CONSCIENCE     247 

qualities  which  go  to  make  a  satisfactory  wife.  It 
was  his  dearest  wish.  I  was  the  first,  he  would 
try  to  make  me  happy;  all  that,  and  not  a  word  of 
his  feelings  toward  me.  His  heart  did  not  speak, 
his  deliberate  conscience  did,  for  I  don't  doubt  he 
has  one,  and  it  makes  him  uncomfortable  when  he 
thinks  of  wresting  Talbot's  Angles  from  me. 
Well,  my  good  man,  keep  your  conscience.  You 
have  done  your  duty  and  there  is  an  end  of  it.  Go 
back  to  where  you  belong." 

She  pondered  awhile  longer  and  then  took  out 
her  writing-materials.  "I'll  have  this  ready  when 
he  comes,"  she  said  to  herself.  "In  case  Aunt  Ri 
is  at  hand  and  I  do  not  have  a  chance  to  speak  to 
him  privately."  She  wrote  the  note,  addressed  the 
envelope  and  sealed  it  with  an  emphasis  which  had 
an  air  of  finality  about  it,  and  then  she  went  to 
bed.  What  her  dreams  were  she  did  not  tell,  but 
no  doubt  Queen  Mab  galloped  through  her  brain. 

Prompt  to  the  minute,  Mr.  Jeffreys  arrived. 
Miss  Ri  and  Linda,  hurrying  back  from  a  call, 
found  him  there,  and  as  fate  would  have  it  Miss 
Ri  sat  down  for  a  chat.  She  would  like  to  have  the 
gossip  of  the  town  from  Mr.  Jeffreys.  How  was 
Parthy  and  how  were  the  dogs,  and  what  was  go- 
ing on?  Had  he  seen  Berk?  and  all  the  rest  of 
it.  The  young  man,  whatever  may  have  been  his 
impatience,  answered  quietly  and  politely,  giving  at 
length  certain  little  details  which  he  knew  would 


248  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

interest  Miss  Ri,  and  for  this  he  deserved  more 
credit  than  he  received. 

After  half  an  hour  he  asked  if  Linda  would  take 
a  walk  with  him,  but  Miss  Ri  objected,  saying 
that  Linda  was  tired  and  that  she  was  going  out 
to  dinner  and  must  not  be  late,  which  hint  started 
the  young  man  off,  though  not  before  he  had  given 
the  girl  a  deprecating,  inquiring  look.  She  re- 
sponded by  handing  him  the  little  note  she  had 
written  the  night  before. 

"Here  is  what  you  asked  me  for,"  she  said,  the 
color  rising  to  her  cheeks  and  a  little  regret  to 
her  heart  when  she  realized  that  she  was  dealing 
him  a  blow. 

He  looked  at  her  searchingly,  but  she  dropped 
her  eyes,  and  he  was  obliged  to  go  without  re- 
ceiving a  spark  of  satisfaction. 

As  girls  will  be,  in  such  cases,  Linda  was  a  little 
hard  on  the  man  whom  she  had  just  refused.  She 
gave  him  less  credit  than  he  deserved,  for  he  was 
honestly  and  fervently  in  love  with  her,  though 
having  lived  in  an  atmosphere  of  repression,  and 
where  it  was  considered  almost  a  crime  to  show  a 
redundance  of  affection,  he  had  betrayed  little  of 
what  he  really  felt,  but  it  is  a  comment  upon  his 
eagerness  to  state  that  he  wasted  no  time  in  find- 
ing out  the  contents  of  the  note  she  gave  him.  It 
was  brief,  but  to  the  point,  and  was  enough  to  send 
the  young  man  back  to  Sandbridge  on  the  evening 


THE  DELIBERATE  CONSCIENCE     249 

boat  which  he  had  barely  time  to  catch.  He  felt 
rather  badly  treated,  for  in  her  sweet  sympathetic 
manner  he  had  read  a  deeper  concern  than  existed. 
Now  he  realized  that  it  was  nothing  more  than  she 
would  show  anyone  thrown  upon  her  generosity,  or 
at  the  most,  presenting  a  claim  to  kinship  of  blood. 
He  credited  her  with  magnanimity  in  yielding  up 
Talbot's  Angles  without  showing  resentment,  and 
he  valued  her  invariable  attention  to  his  confidences, 
as  he  reported  the  various  ups  and  downs  of  his 
affairs,  but  in  his  heart  of  hearts  he  charged  her 
with  a  little  coquetry,  failing  to  understand  her 
spontaneous  sympathy  as  a  man  of  her  own 
locality  would  have  done. 

He  had  the  wisdom  to  believe  that  her  decision 
was  final,  yet  he  lingered  in  Sandbridge  till  her 
return,  giving  himself  up  to  brooding  over  his 
troubles  more  pessimistically,  if  less  passionately 
than  a  more  impulsive  man  would  have  done,  and 
his  cheerful  little  remarks  to  Miss  Parthy,  clipped 
off  with  the  usual  polite  intonation,  gave  her  no 
evidence  that  he  was  most  unhappy. 

But  one  day  he  walked  into  Berkley's  office. 
Berkley  looked  up  from  the  litter  of  legal  documents 
crowding  his  desk.  "Well,  Jeffreys,  old  man,  how 
goes  it  ?  Been  up  to  town,  I  hear.  When  did  you 
get  back?" 

"Several  days  ago/'  was  the  answer.  "I  did  not 
stay  long." 


250  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

"Sit  down  and  tell  me  about  it." 

Mr.  Jeffreys  took  the  vacant  chair,  but  ignored 
the  invitation  to  "tell  about  it."  "I  came  in  to  say 
that  I  am  thinking  of  returning  to  Hartford,"  he 
began.  "I  suppose  you  can  continue  to  push  my 
business  without  my  presence." 

"Why,  yes,  I  imagine  so.  You  could  run  down 
if  necessary.  I  don't  suppose  you  mean  to  stay 
away  very  long  in  any  event." 

"I  should  probably  not  return  except  in  case  of 
necessity."  He  paused,  then  said  with  an  effort, 
"You  were  good  enough,  Matthews,  to  encourage 
me  in  my  addresses  to  Miss  Talbot  so  I  think  it 
is  due  you  to  say  that  she  has  refused  me." 

"My  dear  man !"  Berk  leaned  forward  and  laid 
his  hand  on  the  other's  knee.  "You  mustn't  give 
up  so  easily.  You  know  a  woman's  No  isn't  al- 
ways final." 

"I  believe  this  to  be.  You  wouldn't  accuse  Miss 
Linda  of  being  an  undecided  character. 

"No,  I  must  confess  I  wouldn't.  She  is  very 
gentle  but  she  generally  knows  her  own  mind  pretty 
thoroughly.  Jeffreys,  my  dear  fellow,  I  am  sorry. 
I  don't  wonder  you  are  cut  up  and  are  thinking  oi 
leaving  us.  It  would  be  a  desperately  hard  fight 
to  stay  and  be  obliged  to  see  her  every  now  and 
then.  For  a  man  to  lose  a  girl  like  Linda  Talbot 
is  pretty  tough  lines.  I  shouldn't  want  my  worst 
enemy  to  go  through  such  a  purgatory." 


THE  DELIBERATE  CONSCIENCE     251 

"You  speak  feelingly,"  returned  Mr.  Jeffreys  with 
a  little  bitter  smile.  Then  his  better  manhood  as- 
serting itself,  "Matthews,  you  know  you  love  her 
yourself." 

Berkley  tossed  up  his  head  proudly.  "What  if 
I  do?  I  am  not  ashamed  of  it." 

"And  you  deliberately  gave  me  the  chance  of 
winning  her  if  I  could.  Why?" 

Berkley  made  savage  dabs  with  his  pen  upon  the 
blotting  pad  before  him,  thereby  injuring  the  pen 
hopelessly  and  doing  the  blotter  no  good.  He 
suddenly  threw  the  pen  aside.  "What  sort  of 
chump  would  I  be  if  I  hadn't  done  it?  Her  happi- 
ness was  the  first  thing  to  be  considered,  not  mine. 
I  knew  she  wanted  Talbot's  Angles  more  than  any- 
thing in  the  world,  and  that  ought  to  have  made 
it  dead  easy  for  a  man  who  really  loved  a  girl  in 
the  right  way." 

"And  you  have  been  doing  everything  in  your 
power  to  win  the  property  for  me.  You  have  been 
loyal  to  both  of  us.  Shake  hands,  Berkley  Mat- 
thews, you  are  far  and  away  a  better  man  than  I 
am,  but  I  will  not  be  outdone.  Do  you  think  I  have 
no  pride?  I  may  have  a  deliberate  conscience,  as 
Miss  Talbot  herself  once  told  me,  but  I  hope  it  is 
as  well  developed  as  yours.  I'll  fight  it  out  and 
then  we  shall  see.  What  right  had  I  to  expect 
that  I  could  throw  a  sop  to  my  conscience  by  ask- 
ing her  to  marry  me?  I  see  it  all  now.  You 


252  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

love   her;    so   do   I,   and   I   will   prove    it   to   you 
both." 

"Do  you  suppose  I  doubted  the  truth  of  your 
feeling  for  her  ?"  cried  Berkley.  "That  would  be  a 
poor  compliment  to  her.  I  think  you  are  too  easily 
downed,  Jeffreys.  Cheer  up.  Take  another 
chance.  Wait  awhile.  Do  your  best  to  better 
your  chances.  Unbend  a  little.  Be  more  free  and 
easy.  Make  her  dependent  upon  you  for  encour- 
agement and  sympathy.  Oh,  there  are  a  thousand 
ways." 

Jeffreys  regarded  him  with  a  half  smile.  "You 
mean  I  must  substitute  a  Southern  temperament 
for  a  Northern  one.  That  is  easier  said  than  done. 
The  day  of  miracles  is  past." 

"You've  not  known  her  so  very  long,"  Berkley 
persisted  in  his  argument. 

"I've  seen  her  almost  every  day,  sometimes  twice 
a  day  for  three  months.  I  have  known  young 
ladies  for  years  whom  I  seem  to  know  less  well. 
Certainly  there  has  been  no  bar  to  our  becoming 
well  acquainted." 

"Well,  I  wouldn't  give  up  this  early  in  the  game," 
Berk  continued  his  pleading. 

"You  think  there  is  a  chance  for  me,  do  you? 
I  can  tell  you  there  is  not,"  replied  Mr.  Jeffreys  with 
emphasis. 

Berkley  accompanied  him  to  the  street  where 
they  stood  talking  a  few  minutes  longer.  A  horse 


THE  DELIBERATE  CONSCIENCE     253 

and  buggy  were  there  in  waiting  for  Berkley.  "I 
promised  John  Emory  to  go  with  him  to  sign  a 
deed,"  he  said,  "and  he  left  his  buggy.  I  am  to 
pick  him  up  further  along.  Can  I  take  you  any- 
where, first,  Jeffreys?" 

"No,  thank  you.  I  have  no  special  errand.  I'm 
not  a  man  of  business  just  now,  you  remember." 

Berkley  took  his  place  in  the  vehicle,  was  about 
to  gather  up  the  reins  when  around  the  corner 
dashed  an  automobile.  The  horse  threw  up  his 
head,  gave  a  sudden  plunge,  and  in  another  second 
would  have  swung  the  buggy  directly  in  the  path 
of  the  rushing  car,  but  that  Jeffreys  sprang  for- 
ward and  seized  the  horse's  head  to  jerk  him  to  one 
side,  but  this  was  not  done  before  the  car  grazed 
him  sufficiently  to  send  him  to  the  ground,  close 
to  the  horse's  hoofs.  Without  stopping  the  car 
sped  on.  By  this  time  Berkley  had  grabbed  the 
reins  and  had  spoken  commandingly  to  the  horse 
which  fortunately,  stood  still.  Several  by-standers 
sprang  to  Jeffreys'  aid  and  dragged  him  from  his 
precarious  position. 

Berkley  threw  the  reins  to  Billy,  who  had  run 
out  at  the  sound  of  this  commotion,  and  leaped  to 
where  Jeffreys  now  stood.  "Are  you  hurt,  old 
man?"  he  asked  as  Jeffreys  limped  to  the  sidewalk. 
"Come  right  into  the  office."  He  dismissed  the 
little  crowd  which  had  gathered  and  assisted  Jef- 
freys inside. 


254  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

The  latter  shook  himself.  "I'm  not  actually 
hurt,"  he  answered  "only  a  little  bruised,  I  think, 
and  slightly  shaken  up." 

"You  were  within  an  ace  of  being  killed,  man," 
said  Berkley  gravely.  "And  you  risked  your  life 
for  me.  I  am  not  going  to  forget  that,  Jeffreys." 

The  young  man  smiled.  "It  evens  up  matters  a 
little,"  he  returned,  "though  we  are  not  quits  yet. 
I  haven't  lost  sight  of  that  fact." 

"Doesn't  saving  a  man's  life  come  about  as  near 
settling  any  existing  score  as  a  thing  could?"  asked 
Berkley. 

"Oh,  we  won't  strain  a  point  so  far  as  to  say  it 
was  saving  your  life.  You  might  not  have  been 
hurt  at  all,  and  it  merely  happened  that  I  was  the 
first  to  grab  the  bridle.  There  were  others  ready 
to  do  it  if  I  had  not." 

"Bah!"  cried  Berkley.  "That's  all  wrong  argu- 
ment; if  the  horse  had  not  been  there;  if  the  car 
had  not  come  along;  we  could  go  on  indefinitely 
with  conjecturing,  but  what  we  face  is  a  visible 
truth.  You  risked  your  life  and  limbs  for  me,  and 
that  is  the  exact  statement  of  the  case.  Thank  you, 
is  a  very  feeble  way  to  say  what  I  feel." 

"I'm  quite  all  right  now,"  returned  the  other,  set- 
ting aside  further  discussion.  "If  you  will  let  me 
have  a  brush  or  something  to  get  rid  of  this  dust 
on  my  clothes,  I'll  be  as  good  as  ever.  That's  it, 
thanks,"  for  Berkley  was  vigorously  applying  a 


THE  DELIBERATE  CONSCIENCE     255 

whisk  broom  to  his  dusty  coat  and  trousers.  He 
refused  further  aid,  insisting  that  there  was  no 
need  of  any  assistance  in  getting  home.  He  would 
rather  walk;  it  would  be  good  for  him.  So 
Berkley  was  perforce  to  see  him  leave,  and  himself 
reentered  the  buggy,  and  drove  off  to  keep  his  ap- 
pointment. 

He  was  very  grateful  to  and  infinitely  sorry  for 
his  rival,  but  there  was  an  undercurrent  of  joy  sing- 
ing through  his  heart.  She  had  refused  him,  bless 
her,  and  she  would  return  home  that  very  day.  He 
took  out  a  note  received  from  Miss  Ri  the  day  be- 
fore, saying  that  they  would  arrive  by  the  morning's 
boat.  He  reread  the  lines.  "It  isn't  decent  of  me; 
it  really  isn't,"  he  exclaimed,  stuffing  the  note  back 
into  his  pocket.  "It's  like  dancing  on  another  man's 
grave,  and  after  what  he  has  just  done  for  me,  too. 
What  right  have  I  to  be  glad  anyway?  It  is  los- 
ing her  the  comfort  of  living  again  in  her  old  home, 
and,  dickens  take  it,  how  do  I  know  that  I  am  any 
better  off?  Simmer  down,  Berkley  Matthews;  it 
won't  do  for  you  to  go  galloping  off  with  an  idea 
before  you  have  all  the  facts  in  the  case.  At  least 
you  will  have  the  grace  to  keep  quiet  while  the  other 
fellow  is  around."  And  he  altered  his  train  of 
thought  with  the  determination  of  one  who  has 
learned  the  art  of  concentration  under  difficulties. 

He  had  restrained  himself  from  rushing  off  to 
the  boat  to  meet  the  returning  travellers,  but,  after 


256  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

his  return  to  his  office,  Miss  Ri  called  him  up  and 
imperiously  demanded  his  presence  to  dinner,  and 
he  accepted  without  a  word  of  protest. 

"You're  looking  better,"  remarked  Miss  Ri,  after 
they  had  shaken  hands.  "I  knew  Phebe  would  be 
as  good  for  you  as  untold  bottles  of  tonic.  Come 
right  in.  Linda  is  waiting  in  the  dining-room." 

And  there  Linda  was.  Berkley  wondered  if  she 
could  hear  the  thumping  of  his  heart.  Here  was 
her  hand  in  his.  What  a  wonderful  fact !  She  was 
there  before  him, — free — as  possible  for  him  as  for 
any  other.  He  longed  to  ask  if  she  were  the  least 
little  bit  glad  to  see  him,  but  he  didn't;  all  he  said 
was:  "Glad  to  see  you  back,  Linda.  I  hear  you 
have  been  having  a  great  time." 

"Who  told  you  ?"  she  asked  with  a  sudden  bright 
smile. 

"Mother  wrote  me  a  long  letter.  I'll  tell  you 
about  it  another  time.  I  suppose  you  were  sorry 
to  come  away." 

"No,  not  at  all,  though  we  had  a  lovely  time. 
If  you  want  a  thoroughly  skilled  designer  of  good 
times  you  must  employ  Aunt  Ri." 

"I  think  the  trip  did  much  for  me  in  many  ways. 
One  must  get  off  from  things  to  acquire  a  really  true 
perspective,  you  know,  and  now  I  am  so  happy  to 
be  here  again,  to  see  the  dear  blue  river,  and  this 
blessedly  stupid  town  and  all  that.  There  is  no 
place  like  it,  Berk." 


THE  DELIBERATE  CONSCIENCE     257 

What  pure  joy  to  hear  her  speak  like  that. 
Berkley  wished  she  would  go  on  forever,  but  she 
was  waiting  for  some  response,  he  suddenly  real- 
ized. "That  is  the  way  I  like  to  hear  you  talk," 
he  said  quite  honestly.  "I've  noticed  myself,  that 
when  I  have  been  away  for  any  length  of  time  I 
am  always  glad  to  get  back  to  the  simple  life." 

"Very  simple  with  such  a  dinner,"  laughed 
Linda.  "Phebe  has  prepared  all  this  in  honor  of 
our  home-coming." 

"It  seemed  a  pity  that  you  should  not  be  here 
to  share  it,"  spoke  up  Miss  Ri.  "There  was  no  need 
to  send  you  back  to  husks  this  very  first  day." 

"I  came  near  not  being  here  at  all,"  he  answered. 
Then  he  recounted  the  episode  of  the  morning, 
sparing  no  praise  of  Mr.  Jeffreys,  but  looking  at 
Miss  Ri  rather  than  at  Linda  as  he  told  the  tale 
over  which  his  hearers  were  much  excited. 

Fain  as  he  was  to  linger  after  dinner,  he  would 
not  allow  himself  such  a  luxury,  but  rushed  off  al- 
most immediately,  saying  he  must  get  back  to 
work.  Miss  Ri  watched  him  with  tender  eyes  as  he 
hurried  down  the  path.  "It  is  good  to  get  him 
back,"  she  said  turning  from  the  window.  "I 
don't  know  what  I  should  have  done  if  anything 
serious  had  happened  to  him.  He  is  looking  very 
well,  I  think.  That  troubled,  anxious  expression 
has  left  his  face.  I  think  the  poor  boy  must  have 
been  under  some  great  strain.  If  you  go  off  with 


258  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

that  waxen  image  to  Hartford  I'll  adopt  Berk  as 
sure  as  you  live." 

"Oh,  Aunt  Ri,"  expostulated  Linda,  "you  know 
he  is  no  tailor's  dummy,  but  a  very  fine-looking 
man,  and  just  think  of  what  a  heroic  thing  he  has 
just  done.  There  was  no  deliberation  then,  but 
the  quick  sacrifice  of  himself  at  the  critical  mo- 
ment. Berk  might  have  been  killed  but  for  him. 
I  don't  see  how  you  can  talk  so  about  my  brave 


cousin." 


"Cousin  is  it?  Well,  so  long  as  he  remains  only 
that  I  have  no  complaint  to  make  of  him.  I  sup- 
pose now  we  shall  have  to  have  more  respect  for 
him  than  ever." 

Linda  had  to  laugh  at  the  aggrieved  tone.  "I 
certainly  have,"  she  answered  emphatically.  "I 
think  he  was  perfectly  splendid." 

"Berk,  or  any  other  half  way  decent  man  would 
have  done  the  same  thing  under  like  circum- 
stances," argued  Miss  Ri.  "I  don't  see  that  it  was 
anything  for  him  to  crow  over." 

"I  think  it  was  decidedly."  Linda  stood  her 
ground. 

"Well,  we  won't  quarrel  over  it,"  continued  Miss 
Ri.  "Let's  change  the  subject.  I  was  just  think- 
ing, Linda,  that  I  have  discovered  something  since  I 
have  had  you  here  with  me,  though,  by  the  way, 
one  does  that  all  through  life;  some  truth,  some 
moral  of  living  is  suddenly  revealed  at  a  given 


THE  DELIBERATE  CONSCIENCE     259 

stage.  Life  is  nothing  more  than  a  series  of  rev- 
elations." 

"And  what  has  been  revealed  to  you,  wisest  of 
Aunt  Ris."  Linda  came  over  and  took  her 
friend's  face  between  her  hands. 

"That  one  must  have  somebody  to  work  for  in 
order  to  get  the  best  out  of  existence." 

Linda's  hands  dropped;  her  face  grew  wistful. 
"And  I  have  no  one  but  myself  to  work  for,"  she 
shook  her  head  sadly. 

"You  have  me,  in  a  certain  sense,  and  it  is  too 
early  yet  for  you  to  despair  of  having  someone 
else."  Miss  Ri  laughed  wickedly. 

Linda  pretended  to  box  her  ears.  "You  are  a 
naughty  old  thing.  I  am  going  out  to  talk  to 
Mammy,  and  leave  you  to  meditate  upon  your  sins," 
she  said. 

Mammy  was  sitting  at  the  table  lingering  over 
her  dinner.  She  never  liked  to  cut  short  this  happy 
hour  of  the  day,  and  was  fond  of  picking  here  and 
picking  there,  though  she  would  not  remain  at  the 
table  if  anyone  entered.  It  would  never  do  to 
have  "white  folkes"  see  you  eat. 

"I  thes  gwine  to  cl'ar  away,"  she  said  with  a 
beaming  smile  as  she  swept  bones  and  potato  skins 
into  her  empty  plate. 

"Oh,  Mammy,  you  haven't  finished  your  dinner," 
exclaimed  Linda. 

"Yas,  I  done  et  all  I  wants.     I  thes  res'in'  up  a 


260  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

little  'fo'  I  does  mah  dishes.  Set  down,  honey,  an' 
tell  yo'  Mammy  what  yuh-all  been  a-doin'  whilst 
yuh  was  up  in  de  city.  Mighty  fine  doin's,  I  reckon. 
Yuh  stay  at  de  big  hotel  ?" 

"Yes." 

"An*  w'ar  dat  nice  floppity  white  frock  ?" 

"Yes,  I  wore  it  several  times." 

"An*  yuh  has  uver  so  many  nice  young  gem'mans 
come  to  see  yuh?" 

"Not  very  many.  You  see  I  don't  know  a  great 
many  people,  and  I  am  not  going  to  dances  this 
winter,  of  course.  Mr.  Jeffreys  came  up  while  I 
was  there,  and  he  is  a  nice  young  gentleman,  I 
am  sure." 

Mammy  began  delicately  to  wipe  her  tumblers. 
"Miss  Lindy,  yuh  ain't  gwine  ma'y  dat  man,  is 
yuh?" 

"No,  Mammy."  Linda  spoke  quite  decidedly, 
"but  you  know  he  is  a  kind  of  cousin,  and  I  must  be 
as  nice  to  him  as  possible,  besides  I  like  him  very 
much." 

"He  kain't  hoi'  a  can'le  to  Mr.  Berk;  he  de 
likenes'  young  man  I  uvver  see." 

"You'll  make  me  jealous  if  you  talk  that  way," 
said  Linda  fondly  and  to  please  her  Mammy. 

Mammy  ducked  her  head  and  laughed,  shaking 
her  head  from  side  to  side. 

"I'll  not  go  away  again  if  you  are  going  to  get 


THE  DELIBERATE  CONSCIENCE     261 

so  fond  of  someone  else  while  I  am  gone,"  Linda 
went  on  with  a  pretence  of  pouting. 

Mammy  fairly  doubled  up  at  this.  "Ain'  it  de 
troof  ?"  she  cried.  "Law,  chile,"  she  continued  ap- 
peasingly,  "I  ain't  so  t'arin'  fond  o'  him;  he  ain't 
tall  enough." 

It  was  Linda's  turn  to  laugh,  and  she  went  back 
to  Miss  Ri  to  repeat  Mammy's  criticism. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

OF   WHAT   AVAIL? 

Berkley's  words  did  have  the  effect  of  encourag- 
ing Mr.  Jeffreys  to  take  heart  anew,  and,  as  it 
would  be  another  month  before  his  presence  would 
be  required  in  Hartford,  he  concluded  not  to  neglect 
his  opportunities.  Therefore  again  Berkley  re- 
tired to  the  background  to  watch  his  rival  pass  by 
with  Linda,  walk  to  church  with  her,  while  he  heard 
of  his  visiting  her  daily.  It  seemed,  then,  that  he 
did  not  intend  to  give  her  up  lightly. 

"I  don't  know  what  to  do  about  it,"  Linda  con- 
fided to  Miss  Ri  ruefully.  "I  can't  tell  him  to  go 
home  when  he  comes,  and  I  can't  disappear  like  the 
Cheshire  cat  when  he  joins  me  on  the  street.  He 
will  be  such  a  short  time  here  that  it  doesn't  seem 
worth  while  to  do  more  than  let  matters  drift." 

"I  rather  like  his  persistence,"  declared  Miss  Ri. 
"He'll  win  you  yet,  Verlinda." 

Linda  neither  affirmed  nor  denied.  Another 
little  poem  had  found  its  way  into  print  and  there 
was  hope  ahead,  even  though  Talbot's  Angles 
should  be  lost  to  her. 

"It  isn't  such  a  tremendously  valuable  piece  of 

262 


OF  WHAT  AVAIL?  263 

property  after  all,"  Miss  Ri  continued  her  remarks, 
showing  the  trend  of  her  thought,  "and  if  you 
weren't  so  sentimentally  fond  of  it,  Verlinda,  I 
don't  know  that  it  would  be  such  a  great  loss. 
I  wish  you'd  let  me  adopt  you;  then  I'd  leave  you 
this  place." 

"You'd  have  me  give  up  my  independence,  Aunt 
Ri?  Oh,  no.  We've  canvassed  that  question  too 
often.  If  you  had  taken  me  before  I  had  known 
what  it  was  to  hoe  my  own  row,  it  might  have 
done,  but  now,  oh,  no.  You're  the  dearest  of  dears 
to  tempt  me,  but  we  shall  both  be  happier  with  no 
faster  bond  than  that  which  self-elected  friends 
must  always  feel.  I  love  no  one  so  well  as  you, 
and  you  don't  dislike  me,  though  I  admit  I  don't 
consider  myself  first  in  your  regard." 

"And  who  do  you  think  is?  Not  Becky  Hill's 
brood,  I'm  sure.  They  will  have  enough,  and  I  am 
not  one  of  those  who  think  everything  should  go 
to  those  of  the  name,  unless  there's  love,  too.  Who 
do  you  mean?  If  you're  not  first,  who  is?" 

"Berkley  Matthews." 

"Better  say  he  used  to  be.  He  hasn't  the  sense 
he  was  born  with.  If  I  were  his  mother  I'd  spank 
him." 

"Now,  Aunt  Ri,  what  for?" 

"On  general  principles,  just  because  he  is  such  a 
notional  piece  of  humanity.  I  admire  him,  too;  I 
can't  help  it;  all  the  same  he  tries  me.  When  you 


264  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

desert  me  to  turn  Yankee,  Verlinda,  I'll  make  my 
will  and  leave  this  place  as  a  home  for  indigent 
females  or  something  of  that  kind." 

"How  nice,"  returned  Linda  comfortably;  "then 
when  I  grow  decrepit  I  can  come  back  here  and 
have  my  old  room." 

The  little  creases  appearing  around  Miss  Ri's 
eyes,  showed  that  she  appreciated  this  retort. 
"There  comes  Bertie,"  she  announced  a  moment 
after. 

"Then  I'll  ask  her  to  walk  with  me,"  returned 
Linda,  rising  with  alacrity. 

"Doesn't  Mr.  Jeffreys  make  his  appearance  about 
this  time?" 

"Generally,  but  I  can  skip  him  to-day.  I'd  rather 
go  with  Bertie.  Just  tell  him,  Aunt  Ri." 

"That  you'd  rather  go  with  Bertie  ?" 

"Of  course  not,  but  that  we  have  gone  out  for 
a  walk." 

"Where  are  you  going?" 

"There's  no  need  of  your  knowing,  is  there?" 

Miss  Ri  looked  up  with  a  smile.  "I  understand. 
Go  along.  I  reckon  you're  right  to  suggest  the 
unattainable  once  in  a  while;  it  adds  to  the  zest 
later."  And  with  this  Parthian  shot  following  her, 
Linda  left  the  room  to  join  Bertie. 

In  another  moment  Miss  Ri  saw  the  two  girls 
going  out  the  gate.  "I'll  not  even  watch  to  see 
which  way  they  turn,"  she  said  to  herself,  letting 


OF  WHAT  AVAIL?  265 

her  gaze  fall  on  her  work  rather  than  on  the  out- 
side world.  The  dear  lady  made  a  good  con- 
spirator. 

"When  are  you  going  to  announce  your  engage- 
ment?" was  one  of  the  first  questions  Bertie  put 
to  her  companion,  as  they  set  their  faces  toward 
the  main  street. 

"What  do  you  mean?"  asked  Linda. 

"Oh,  now  Linda  Talbot,  everyone  knows  you  are 
engaged  to  Mr.  Jeffreys.  You  wouldn't  be  to- 
gether so  continually  if  you  were  not." 

"I  think  I  could  mention  several  young  persons 
in  this  town  who  have  set  a  worthy  precedent," 
replied  Linda. 

"Oh,  well,  of  course,  but  in  this  case —  He  isn't 
the  flirty  kind,  we  all  know." 

"He  is  my  cousin,"  argued  Linda  in  self-defence. 

Bertie  laughed.  "We  all  know  that  kind  of 
cousin.  The  Irish  maids  have  flaunted  them  before 
our  eyes  for  generations.  That  won't  do,  Linda. 
Own  up." 

"Positively  there  are  none  but  friendly  relations 
between  Wyatt  Jeffreys  and  myself." 

"Truly?  I  can  scarcely  believe  it,  but  there  is 
not  a  doubt  but  that  there  will  be  different  ones,  and 
everyone  is  thinking  it  such  an  ideal  arrangement, 
for  of  course  it  is  known  that  he  is  the  claimant  for 
Talbot's  Angles." 

"I  am  sorry  to  disappoint  my  neighbors." 


266  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

"I,  for  one,  don't  expect  to  be  disappointed.  If 
I  did  I  would  set  my  cap  for  the  young  man  my- 
self. I've  heard  girls  talk  that  way  before,  and 
the  first  thing  you  knew  their  wedding  cards  were 
out.  I  don't  see  how  you  can  possibly  give  up 
the  joy  of  owning  that  dear  old  home  of  yours. 
He'd  better  not  offer  himself  to  me,  I'd  accept  him 
for  Talbot's  Angles  if  for  nothing  else." 

Linda  winced.  It  might  come  to  that,  perhaps. 
For  the  moment  she  felt  annoyed  at  Bertie  who 
might  have  been  more  tactful,  she  thought. 

"Do  you  know,"  continued  Bertie,  "whether  Mr. 
Jeffreys  intends  to  live  there?  We  are  all  dying 
to  know,  and  if  you  don't  become  the  mistress  of 
the  dear  old  place  it  will  not  want  for  one  for  the 
lack  of  appreciative  damsels.  The  girls  are  ready, 
even  now  to  reckon  on  their  chances.  We  don't 
have  so  many  eligible  young  men  come  to  town 
that  we  can  afford  to  let  such  a  desirable  one  go 
away  unappropriated." 

"It  seems  to  me  that  he  is  not  the  only  one,"  re- 
sponded Linda. 

"There  are  not  more  than  half  a  dozen,  not  near 
enough  to  go  around.  I  know  perfectly  well,  for 
at  the  last  dance  I  had  to  dance  twice  with  a  girl, 
and  I  do  hate  that.  Let  me  see,  there  are  Elmer 
Dawson,  John  Emory,  Todd  Bryan,  Billy  Tucker, 
Tom  Willis,  and  Berk  Matthews,  though  Berk 
doesn't  count.  Nobody  sees  him  nowadays.  He 


OF  WHAT  AVAIL?  267 

has  turned  into  a  regular  greasy  grind,  so  that  he 
is  no  good  at  all.  He  has  a  girl  up  in  the  city, 
you  know.  I  charged  him  with  it,  and  he  the  same 
as  admitted  it.  I  think  he  might  have  looked 
nearer  home.  Berk  used  to  be  great  fun,  too;  it 
is  rather  a  shame.  So  you  see,  Linda,  even  count- 
ing him  there  are  not  more  than  six  who  are  really 
worth  while;  the  rest  are  mere  boys.  Now,  if  you 
really  don't  want  your  cousin  yourself,  you  might 
speak  a  good  word  for  me,  and  I'll  be  mighty  thank- 
ful." 

"Bertie,  you  are  a  silly  child.  You  know  you 
don't  mean  a  word  of  all  this.  Why  do  you  rattle 
on  in  such  a  brainless  way?" 

"I'm  in  dead  earnest,  I  assure  you.  I'll  take  him 
in  a  minute,  now  that  I  can't  get  Berk  who  is  as 
good  as  gone.  We  are  wild  to  know  who  the  girl 
is,  what  she  looks  like  and  all  that.  I  suppose  you 
didn't  happen  to  meet  her  when  you  were  in  the 
city.  Miss  Ri  ought  to  know,  if  anyone  does." 

"We  didn't  meet  any  such  person,"  replied  Linda 
a  little  defiantly.  "We  saw  Mrs.  Matthews  and 
Margaret,  but,  of  course,  they  did  not  mention  her." 

"Very  likely  they  would  be  the  last  ones  to 
know.  At  all  events  he  is  not  the  lad  he  was,  as 
anyone  with  half  an  eye  can  see.  Even  if  he  hadn't 
told  me  there  would  be  but  one  conclusion  to  gather 
from  his  absolute  indifference  to  us  all.  Every  one 
of  the  girls  agree  to  that." 


268  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

Linda  smiled  mechanically.  Suppose  it  were 
true.  There  had  been  but  the  one  meeting,  that 
which  took  place  upon  the  day  of  her  arrival  from 
the  city,  then  it  had  seemed  as  if  they  were  about 
to  return  to  the  old  pleasant  relations,  but  since 
then  not  another  sign.  Yet —  "There  isn't  any- 
thing I  wouldn't  do  to  make  you  happy,  Linda  Tal- 
bot."  What  was  the  meaning  of  that  saying? 
Only  the  gentle  concern  of  a  chivalrous,  tender- 
hearted man,  probably.  She  gave  a  little  sigh 
which  drew  Bertie's  attention. 

"Tired,  Linda?  We're  going  too  far,  perhaps. 
I  forget  that  you  are  a  busy  bee  all  the  morning. 
We'd  better  turn  back." 

Linda  agreed.  She  felt  singularly  heavy- 
spirited  and  would  be  glad  to  reach  home,  she 
realized.  Bertie  left  her  with  a  laughing  challenge 
to  "hurry  up  or  she  would  try  to  cut  her  out,"  and 
then  Linda  went  in. 

Miss  Ri  was  just  stirring  the  fire,  for  she  loved 
the  dancing  lights  at  a  twilight  hour.  "Draw  up, 
draw  up,"  she  cried,  "and  tell  me  the  news.  What 
did  you  learn  from  Bertie?" 

"First  that  I  was  engaged  to  Mr.  Jeffreys,  and 
if  not  that  I  ought  to  be.  Second;  it  is  reported 
that  Berkley  Matthews  has  a  sweetheart  in  the 
city." 

"The  wretch!"  cried  Miss  Ri.     "I'd  like  to  see 


OF  WHAT  AVAIL?  269 

him  bring  a  strange  girl  here  for  me  to  conciliate 
and  defer  to." 

"He  has  a  perfect  right,  hasn't  he,  Aunt  Ri?" 

"Oh,  I  don't  know,  I'm  sure.  I  hate  to  think  of 
it.  So  the  report  is  that  you  are  certainly  en- 
gaged." 

"Yes,  they  have  arranged  it  all,  and  are  quite 
pleased.  I  am  to  live  at  Talbot's  Angles,  it  seems, 
and  it  is  considered  a  delightful  way  to  settle  mat- 
ters for  me.  Bertie  was  quite  enthusiastic.  Did 
Mr.  Jeffreys  come?" 

"Yes,  and  was  sorry  to  have  missed  you.  He'll 
be  back  this  evening.  He  tells  me  he  is  going  to 
leave  for  Hartford  next  week.  Are  you  going  with 
him,  Verlinda?" 

The  girl  thoughtfully  prodded  a  long  stick  which 
needed  pushing  further  back.  "I  haven't  decided," 
she  replied  presently. 

"You  had  decided  there  in  Baltimore,  if  I  re- 
member correctly." 

"Yes,  so  I  had.  Oh,  I  don't  know.  I  don't 
know.  I  don't  see  how  I  could  stand  it  to  keep  on 
living  here."  She  put  down  the  tongs  and  clasped 
her  hands  tightly. 

"Why,  Verlinda,  my  dear  child,  what  do  you 
mean?  You — "  Miss  Ri  paused  and  laid  her  hand 
gently  on  the  girl's.  "The  wretch,"  she  mur- 
mured, "the  wretch." 


2;o  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

Linda  turned  to  kiss  her  cheek.  "Never  mind, 
Aunt  Ri,"  she  rejoined;  "no  doubt  I'll  be  thanking 
the  Lord  yet." 

Miss  Ri  laughed  shortly,  then  the  words  came 
pleadingly,  "Don't  leave  me,  Verlinda,  and  don't 
think  you  will  be  any  happier  if  you  go  away.  You 
can't  run  from  yourself,  you  know.  Stay  where 
you  are  and  fight  it  out  as  I  did.  I'll  do  my  best 
for  you." 

"Dear  Aunt  Ri!  As  if  I  didn't  know  that. 
After  all,  I  believe  you  are  right.  I'd  be  happier 
here  with  you  than  among  strangers  under  any  cir- 
cumstances, even  with  my  old  home  calling  me  and 
a  good  man  to  share  it.  I  suppose  it  is  cowardly  to 
want  to  take  refuge  in  a  love  you  can't  return." 

"It  isn't  only  cowardly,"  affirmed  Miss  Ri  with 
decision,  "but  it  is  unfair  to  the  one  who  gives  all 
and  receives  no  return.  I  think  you  are  too  proud 
as  well  as  too  honest  to  allow  that,  Verlinda." 

"Do  you  think  I've  been  unkind,  unfair  to  Mr. 
Jeffreys  ?  I  haven't  meant  to  be.  I've  been  trying 
my  best  to  care  for  him,  to  learn  to  know  him 
better  and  to  appreciate  his  good  qualities  so  they 
would  seem  sufficient  for  me.  I  haven't  meant  to 
encourage  him  unduly.  I  meant  to  do  the  very 
fairest  thing  I  could,  but  I  am  afraid  I  haven't, 
after  all,  or  the  town  wouldn't  take  things  so  for 
granted." 

"The    town    takes    things    for    granted    upon 


OF  WHAT  AVAIL?  271 

slighter  evidence  than  that.  Don't  struggle  any 
more,  dear  child.  What  is  that  old  quotation  ?  'To 
thine  own  self  be  true  and  it  must  follow  as  the 
night  the  day,  thou  can'st  not  then  be  false  to  any 
man/  Don't  forget  that.  Now,  let's  light  up  and 
be  as  cheery  as  we  can.  Don't  believe  all  the  gossip 
you  hear;  there's  not  one  tenth  of  it  true." 

Mr.  Jeffreys  came  again  that  evening.  Miss  Ri, 
with  a  wisdom  born  of  experience,  went  around  to 
Miss  Parthy's  and  with  the  opportunity  afforded 
him  Mr.  Jeffreys  made  a  final  throw — and  lost. 
Miss  Ri  returned  to  find  Linda,  with  her  head  in  the 
cushions  of  the  sofa,  shaking  with  sobs. 

"You  poor  darling  child,"  said  Miss  Ri,  bending 
over  her,  "was  it  so  hard?" 

"Oh,  I  hated  to  do  it.     I  hated  to,  Aunt  Ri.     He 
was  so  quiet  and  dignified,  and  so  kind.     He  tried 
to  make  me  feel  that  it  wasn't  my  fault  and  he— 
cares  much  more  than  I  believed.     He  didn't  say  so 
before." 

"Before?  There  was  a  first  time,  then,  and  this 
was  the  second." 

"Yes,  as  you  suspected,  there  in  Baltimore,  but 
I  wasn't  half  so  distressed  then.  Oh,  dear,  why 
should  we  have  such  contrary  hearts?"  Down 
went  her  head  again. 

"There,  dear,  there,"  Miss  Ri  soothed  her. 
"Don't  cry  about  it.  There  never  was  a  man  liv- 
ing worth  so  many  tears.  He  will  get  over  it 


272  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

beautifully ;  I  never  knew  one  who  didn't.  You  will 
probably  get  cards  for  his  wedding  while  you  are 
still  grieving  over  this  night's  business.  Mark  my 
words." 

Linda  sat  up  at  this.  "I  suppose  I  am  silly,"  she 
said  steadily.  "I  haven't  a  doubt  but  I  was  over- 
wrought and  nervous.  You  see  it  is  the  first  time 
I  ever  refused  a  man  to  his  face;  I  gave  him  a 
note  before.  Very  likely  if  I  had  refused  a  dozen 
men  as  some  girls  do,  I  should  get  to  rather  en- 
joying it."  She  smiled  ruefully. 

Miss  Ri  sat  down  and  snuggled  her  up  close. 
"Dear,  good  little  lass,  you'd  never  be  one  to  glory 
in  scalps.  I  am  sorry  for  you  both,  but  it  can't 
be  helped,  and  you  have  done  exactly  right.  Now 
don't  lie  awake  all  night  thinking  about  it."  A 
wise  piece  of  advice  but  one  which  profited  Linda 
little. 

With  more  than  his  usual  gravity  Wyatt  Jef- 
freys presented  himself  at  Berkley's  office  the  next 
morning.  "Can  I  see  you  privately?"  he  asked,  for 
Billy  was  rattling  papers  in  the  next  room  where 
a  couple  of  countrymen  were  waiting,  beguiling  the 
time  by  a  plentiful  use  of  chewing  tobacco. 

Berkley  glanced  at  his  clients.  "Can  you  wait 
a  few  minutes  ?  I  shall  be  through  with  these  men 
before  very  long.  Suppose  you  go  over  to  the  hotel 
and  tell  them  that  you  are  to  meet  me  there.  Ask 


OF  WHAT  AVAIL?  273 

them  to  show  you  to  my  room.  I'll  be  over  as  soon 
as  I  can." 

Jeffreys  nodded  approvingly.  "Very  well.  I 
will  meet  you  there.  Thank  you  for  suggesting 
it." 

He  was  admitted  to  the  room  without  question. 
He  remembered  it  from  having  first  visited  Berk- 
ley there  to  identify  the  little  trunk.  Better  it  had 
never  been  found  and  that  he  had  left  the  place  then 
and  there.  He  sat  down  in  the  one  easy  chair,  and 
looked  around.  On  the  bureau  stood  a  row  of 
photographs,  the  first  of  a  gentle  looking  woman 
whose  eyes  were  like  Berkley's;  that  must  be  his 
mother,  and  the  next  his  sister.  A  third,  evidently 
taken  some  years  before,  showed  a  man  with 
thoughtful  brow  and  a  strong,  though  not  hand- 
some face;  this  was  Dr.  Matthews  of  whom  Jef- 
freys had  heard  much  from  those  who  still  missed 
their  beloved  physician.  There  was  another  photo- 
graph standing  by  itself,  the  thin  white  outer  cover- 
ing dropped  like  a  veil  over  it,  but  through  this 
Jeffreys  could  see  that  it  was  a  head  of  Linda.  He 
did  not  lift  the  veil,  but  stood  thoughtfully  look- 
ing at  the  dim  outline.  He  had  put  his  own  camera 
to  use  often  enough  to  secure  several  snap-shots  of 
the  girl  in  Miss  Ri's  old  garden,  but  this  picture  he 
had  not  seen.  He  wondered  if  she  had  given  it  to 
Berkley,  and  when.  There  were  no  other  pictures 


274  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

about  except  those  three  of  the  family  standing  side 
by  side. 

The  man  sat  down  again  and  presently  Berkley 
hurried  in.  "Sorry  I  had  to  keep  you  waiting,"  he 
said,  "but  these  country  fellows  are  slow.  Well, 
anything  new?" 

"Nothing,"  responded  Jeffreys  dully.  "I  only 
wanted  to  tell  you  that  I  am  leaving  next  week,  and 
that  I  wish  to  stop  proceedings  in  the  matter  of 
Talbot's  Angles." 

"What  do  you  mean,  man?"  Berkley  turned  in 
surprise. 

"Just  that.  Do  you  think  you're  the  only  man 
who  can  do  a  brave  thing?  Do  you  suppose  you 
can  flaunt  your  heroics  without  making  me  feel  that 
I  am  a  small  specimen  who  has  no  right  to  be  smirk- 
ing around  as  a  complacent  recipient  of  others' 
property?  I  will  not  have  it.  I  am  as  capable  as 
you  of  making  sacrifices.  I  will  not  be  outdone 
by  you." 

"Please  explain  yourself."  Berkley  spoke  qui- 
etly, eyeing  the  other  man's  tense  face. 

"I  mean  this:  I  wish  Miss  Talbot  to  retain  her 
property.  I  have  taken  your  advice,  but,  as  I  told 
you  before,  it  was  not  worth  while.  Not  even  for 
the  sake  of  having  her  own  again  would  she  take 
me  with  the  property." 

"You  wouldn't  expect  one  of  her  caliber  to  do  it 
for  the  sake  of  that  only,"  said  Berkley  a  little 


OF  WHAT  AVAIL?  275 

proudly.  Then  more  gently,  "I  am  no  end  of  sorry. 
Believe  me  or  not,  I  had  hoped  for  a  better  report 
from  you." 

"Is  that  honestly  said?" 

"It  is." 

The  man's  face  softened.  "I  believe  you,  Mat- 
thews. If  ever  a  man  has  shown  himself  loyal,  you 
are  he.  I  see  it  all,  and  I  bow  to  the  inevitable.  I 
never  have  had  much  of  what  I  wanted  in  this 
world,  and  I  suppose  I  shall  never  have.  As  yet 
I  cannot  be  as  generous  as  you,  but  some  day  I 
hope  to  reach  your  heights.  I  have  the  promise 
of  a  good  future  before  me,  and  I  can  do  without 
Cyrus  Talbot's  inheritance.  What  I  came  to  say 
I  have  said.  Stop  proceedings.  I  relinquish  all 
claim  to  Talbot's  Angles." 

What  could  Berkley  answer?  He  realized  that 
these  were  sorry  days  for  Jeffreys,  and  the  least 
said  now  the  better.  "Very  well,"  he  agreed;  "it 
shall  be  as  you  wish.  I  consider  it  most  generous 
of  you.  Of  course  nothing  of  any  account  has  been 
done,  and  we  will  drop  the  whole  thing  for  the 
present.  Perhaps  you  will  wish  to  reconsider  it 
some  day.  If  you  do,  I  am  at  your  service.  Shall 
I  hand  you  back  your  papers  ?" 

"No.  Throw  them  into  the  fire.  I  don't  care 
what  you  do  with  them.  I  shall  never  want  them." 

He  rose  to  go.  Berkley  followed  him  to  the 
street  where  they  parted,  the  one  to  return  to  his 


276  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

room,  the  other  to  his  office  where  he  tied  up  the 
papers  and  thrust  them  into  his  desk.  That  was 
done.  What  a  storm  of  feeling  those  yellow  sheets 
had  raised,  and  now — "Poor  devil,"  said  Berkley  to 
himself.  "It  was  pretty  hard  lines  and  he  has 
shown  himself  of  good  stuff.  Confound  it  all,  why 
did  it  have  to  happen  so?  At  least  I  must  have  the 
delicacy  to  keep  out  of  the  way  while  the  man  is  in 
town/'  The  color  rushed  to  his  face,  but  receded 
almost  as  quickly.  "I'm  a  conceited  ass,"  he  cried 
inwardly.  "If  she  couldn't  care  for  such  a  man  as 
Jeffreys  why  should  I  expect  her  to  care  for  me? 
Go  to,  Berkley  Matthews.  Crawl  down  from  your 
pinnacle,  and  don't  lay  any  such  flattering  unction 
to  your  soul."  He  set  to  work  at  one  of  his  briefs, 
determined  not  to  encourage  himself  in  any 
illusions. 


CHAPTER  XX 
"THE  SPRING  HAS  COME" 

During  the  remainder  of  Mr.  Jeffreys'  stay  in  the 
town  Berkley  religiously  kept  away  from  Miss  Ri's 
brown  house  on  the  point,  and  even  carried  his  de- 
termination so  far  that  once  seeing  Linda  in  the 
distance  as  he  was  coming  out  of  his  office  he 
bolted  back  again  and  waited  till  she  was  well  out 
of  sight  before  he  came  out.  "What  did  I  do  that 
for?"  he  said  to  himself,  smiling  a  little.  He  did 
not  see  Mr.  Jeffreys  again  until  one  afternoon  a 
week  later  when  he  came  into  the  office. 

"I  am  going  around  making  my  farewell  calls, 
Matthews,"  he  said.  "I  take  the  boat  for  Balti- 
more this  evening.  My  unfortunate  old  trunk  and 
I  will  soon  be  out  of  your  way.  Again  let  me  thank 
you  for  all  your  kindness." 

"I'm  sorry  to  see  you  go,"  replied  Berkley,  "but 
I  hope  you  will  carry  away  some  pleasant  memo- 
ries of  our  old  'eastern  shore.' ' 

"I  shall  carry  away  many.  I  can  never  forget 
the  hospitality  and  kindness  shown  me  here." 

"And  about  those  papers ;  if  ever  you  want  to  re- 

277 


278  TALBOTS  ANGLES 

new  the  case  I  am  ready  to  help  you,  remember." 
He  held  out  his  hand. 

"That  matter  is  disposed  of,"  returned  Jeffreys 
with  a  little  frown.  "We  will  dispense  with  the 
subject  if  you  please.  I  am  going  to  Miss  Talbot 
from  here,  and  shall  tell  her  that  she  need  fear  no 
more  interference  from  me.  To-day  our  paths  sep- 
arate. Have  you  seen  her,  Matthews?"  he  asked 
after  a  slight  pause. 

"No,  I  have  not."  Berkley  looked  straight  into 
the  other's  eyes. 

Jeffreys  gave  the  hand  he  held  a  closer  grip. 
"You  are  a  good  friend,  Matthews.  Let  me  echo 
your  offer;  if  there  is  anything  I  can  ever  do  for 
you,  command  me.  Good-by." 

Berkley  laid  his  hand  on  the  young  man's 
shoulder.  "Thank  you,  Jeffreys.  I  will  remem- 
ber. Good  luck  to  you  and  good-by." 

So  they  parted  and  the  boat  slipping  through  the 
darkness  over  the  quiet  waters  of  the  river  that 
night,  bore  away  him  whose  coming  and  going  both 
seemed  made  under  unpropitious  stars. 

It  was  a  warm  afternoon  in  February,  one  of 
those  days  when  Spring  seems  close  at  hand  by 
reason  of  a  bluebird's  early  note,  and  the  appear- 
ance of  some  venturesome  crocus  in  the  grass. 
February  brings  such  days  in  this  part  of  Mary- 
land. The  morning's  mail  had  given  Linda  the 
happiness  of  receiving  a  magazine  in  which  were 


"THE  SPRING  HAS  COME"          279 

some  of  her  verses,  accepted  and  paid  for.  This 
step,  which  carried  her  beyond  the  satisfaction  of 
seeing  herself  in  print,  merely  by  compliment,  was 
one  which  well  agreed  with  the  springlike  day. 
She  was  sitting  at  the  piano  joyously  singing: 

"The  spring  has  come,  the  flowers  in  bloom 

The  happy  birds- 
She  broke  off  suddenly,  for  in  through  the  window 
open  to  the  floor  came  Berkley. 

"Don't  stop,"  he  begged.  "I  love  to  hear  you." 
They  stood  smiling  at  one  another,  before  either 
spoke  again,  then  Linda  turned  back  to  the  piano 
to  finish  the  song  while  Berkley  leaned  above  her 
to  watch  her  slim  fingers  moving  over  the  keys. 
"It  just  suits  the  day,  doesn't  it?"  she  said  when 
she  had  finished.  "Did  you  see  that  there  was  a 
crocus  by  the  side  of  the  walk  ?  And  this  morning 
I  heard  a  bluebird." 

"And  that  is  what  makes  you  look  so  happy?" 
"Not  altogether.     Sit  down  over  there  by  the 
little  window,  and  if  you  will  be  very  good  I  will 
show  you  something." 

He  obediently  took  the  place  assigned  him,  where 
the  window  seat  ran  along  the  small  raised  plat- 
form, and  Linda  produced  the  magazine.  "There," 
she  said,  opening  to  a  certain  page.  "And  it  is 
paid  for,"  she  added  triumphantly. 


28o  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

Berkley  read  the  lines  through.  "You  have 
climbed  into  fame,  haven't  you?"  he  said.  "Are 
you  feeling  very  high  and  mighty?  Would  you 
like  me  to  sit  on  the  floor  at  your  feet.  It  would  be 
very  easy  on  this  platform." 

She  laughed.  It  was  good  to  hear  the  old  fool- 
ish manner  of  speech  again.  "No,  I  won't  insist 
upon  that,  though  I  can't  tell  what  I  may  require  if 
this  continues.  Do  you  like  my  verses,  Berk?" 

"Yes,  very  much.  I  suppose  they  are  really  bet- 
ter than  these.  He  took  from  his  pocket-book  a 
little  clipping,  'The  Marching  Pines/  but  I  shall 
always  care  more  for  these.  I  shall  never  be  quite 
so  fond  of  any  others,  perhaps." 

"Why?" 

Berkley  did  not  answer,  but  instead  asked,  "Did 
Jeffreys  tell  you  of  his  determination  not  to  follow 
up  his  claim  ?" 

"Yes,  he  told  me."     Linda  looked  grave. 

"It  was  generous  of  him,  don't  you  think  ?" 

A  half  smile  played  around  Linda's  lips.  "Yes, 
I  suppose  it  was.  He  meant  to  do  me  a  great  kind- 
ness and  I  appreciate  it." 

"But  you  could  not  agree  to  share  it  with  him. 
He  is  a  good  fellow,  Linda,  and  I  am  very  sorry  for 
him.  He  was  greatly  cut  up." 

"How  do  you  know?" 

"He  told  me." 

"That—" 


"THE  SPRING  HAS  COME"          281 

"That  he  had  asked  you  to  marry  him?  Yes,  he 
told  me  that.  Poor  old  chap.  I  grew  quite  fond 
of  him.  Why  didn't  you,  Linda  ?" 

"I  don't  know.  I  didn't;  that's  all;  I  didn't, 
though  I  tried  very  hard." 

"Don't  you  think  he  was  actually  heroic  to  give 
up  the  claim?" 

"I  am  sure  he  meant  to  be,  but  of  course  you  un- 
derstand that  I  could  not  accept  such  a  sacrifice 
from  him  and  that  if  the  law  were  to  give  him  a 
right  to  Talbot's  Angles,  I  couldn't  think  of  doing 
anything  but  giving  it  up  to  him." 

"But  he  refuses  to  allow  me  to  go  on.  I  have  the 
papers  and  I  am  to  burn  them  if  I  choose." 

Linda  smiled,  a  little  mysterious,  exultant  smile. 
"That  doesn't  alter  my  point  of  view." 

"And  so  you  refuse  to  allow  him  to  be  a  hero." 

"He  isn't  the  only  hero  in  the  world.  He  him- 
self told  me  of  another."  There  was  a  wise,  kind 
expression  in  her  eyes. 

Berkley  slipped  down  from  the  window  seat  to  a 
cushion  at  her  feet.  She  bent  over  him  as  a 
mother  over  her  child.  "Linda,"  he  said  whisper- 
ingly.  "Linda."  He  took  her  soft  hand  in  his 
strong  lithe  fingers,  and  she  let  it  lie  there.  He 
pressed  the  cool  little  hand  against  his  hot  brow, 
then  he  looked  up.  "Linda,"  he  repeated,  "here  I 
am  at  your  feet.  I  love  you  so!  Oh,  how  I  love 
you!  I  know  I  don't  deserve  it,  but  do  you  think 


282  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

you  could  ever  learn  to  care  a  little  for  me?  I  am 
not  rich,  but  some  day  maybe  I  could  buy  back  Tal- 
bot's  Angles.  There  is  nothing  I  would  not  do  to 
make  you  happy." 

"You  said  that  once  before,  Berk." 

"Did  I?" 

"Yes, — that  night  in  the  rain." 

"I  meant  it." 

"As  much  as  you  do  now  ?" 

"Every  bit."  " 

"And  yet  you  avoided  me,  passed  me  by,  allowed 
another  to  step  in." 

"It  was  for  you,  for  you.  I  wanted  you  to  be 
happy,"  he  murmured. 

"I  see  that  now,  but  I  missed  my  friend." 

"Your  friend?  Am  I  never  to  be  anything  more, 
Linda  ?  I  love  you  with  my  whole  heart.  You  are 
the  one  woman  in  the  world  to  me.  Don't  you 
think  that  some  day  you  might  learn  to  love  me  a 
little?" 

Linda's  face  was  aglow  with  a  tender  light;  her 
eyes  were  like  stars.  "No,  Berk,"  she  said  slowly, 
lingeringly,  "I  could  never  learn  to  love  you  a  little." 

He  dropped  her  hand  and  looked  down,  all  the 
hope  gone  from  his  face. 

"Because,"  Linda  went  on,  bending  a  little  nearer 
that  he  could  hear  her  whisper,  "I  already  love  you 
so  much." 

He  gave  a  little  joyous  cry  and  sprang  to  his  feet, 


"THE  SPRING  HAS  COME"          283 

all  his  divine  right  suddenly  recognized.  He  held 
out  his  arms.  "Come,"  he  said. 

Linda  arose  with  shining  face,  stepped  down  from 
the  platform  and  went  to  him. 

The  dim  portraits  on  the  walls  smiled  down  at 
them.  It  was  the  old  story  to  which  each  passing 
generation  had  listened.  The  ancient  house  could 
tell  many  a  like  tale. 

"Berk,"  said  Linda  when  they  had  gone  back  to 
the  seat  by  the  window,  "they  told  me  you  had  a 
sweetheart  in  the  city.  Bertie  Bryan  vowed  you 
acknowledged  it  to  her." 

He  took  her  hands  and  kissed  them.  "So  I  may 
have  done,  my  queen,  but  it  was  when  you  were 
there." 

Linda  sighed,  a  happy  satisfied  sigh.  "Berk, 
dear,  were  you  very  unhappy,  then?  You  didn't 
have  to  be,  you  see." 

"I  thought  it  was  necessary,  and  perhaps  I 
needed  the  discipline." 

"Just  as  I  have  needed  the  discipline  of  teaching. 
I  am  realizing  by  degrees  what  a  wonderful  life 
work  it  might  become." 

"But  you  shall  not  teach  long,  though,  Linda 
darling,  I  haven't  told  you  that  we  shall  have  to  be- 
gin life  rather  simply,  for  you  know  I  must  always 
think  of  my  mother." 

"Berk,  dear,  I  couldn't  be  happy  if  I  thought  you 
ever  would  do  less  than  you  do  now  for  her." 


284  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

"You  are  so  wonderful,  so  wonderful,"  he  mur- 
mured. "I  hope  to  do  better  and  better  in  my  pro- 
fession, for  I  am  much  encouraged,  and  some  day, 
remember  I  shall  buy  back  Talbot's  Angles  for 
you." 

"You  will  never  do  that,  Berk,"  returned  Linda, 
trying  to  look  very  grave. 

"Why,  sweet?" 

"Because  when  Grace  marries  it  will  be  mine 
without  any  question.  We  have  had  a  letter  from 
Judge  Goldsborough." 

"And  he  said—" 

"That  he  had  discovered  papers  which  prove  that 
Cyrus  Talbot  had  only  a  lease  on  the  place;  it  was 
for  ninety-nine  years,  and  it  expired  more  than  ten 
years  ago." 

"Of  all  things !"  ejaculated  Berkley.  "That  was 
the  last  explanation  that  would  have  occurred  to 
me.  Did  Jeffreys  know  before  he  left  ?" 

"Yes,  we  told  him  that  afternoon  he  called  to  say 
good-by.  Aunt  Ri  thought  it  was  best  to  tell  him, 
and  to  show  him  the  judge's  letter." 

"Poor  old  chap !  And  he  had  to  go  without  even 
the  recompense  of  having  made  a  sacrifice  for  you." 

Linda's  face  clouded.  "Yes,  he  said  that  every- 
thing had  failed,  even  his  attempted  good  deeds.  I 
hope  he  will  find  happiness  some  day." 

"And  you  are  very  glad  that  you  can  feel  an  un- 
disputed ownership  of  the  old  home?" 


"THE  SPRING  HAS  COME"          285 

"Yes,  of  course  I  am  glad.     Aren't  you?" 

"What  is  your  happiness  is  mine,  beloved  Ver- 
linda." 

"The  only  drop  of  bitterness  comes  from  the 
thought  of  Wyatt  Jeffreys,  but  even  there  Aunt  Ri 
insists  his  unhappiness  will  not  last  and  that  com- 
forts me." 

"Who  is  talking  about  Aunt  Ri  ?"  asked  that  lady 
coming  in  and  throwing  aside  her  hat.  "Parthy 
has  a  brood  of  thirteen  young  chickens  just  out,  and 
I  have  been  down  to  see  them.  What  were  you  two 
saying  about  me?  Hallo,  Berk,  what  has  brought 
you  here,  I'd  like  to  know?  I  thought  you  were  so 
busy  you  could  scarcely  breathe/' 

"Oh,  Fm  taking  an  afternoon  off,"  he  responded. 
"A  man  can't  be  a  mere  machine  such  weather  as 
this." 

"I've  been  telling  him  about  the  judge's  letter," 
put  in  Linda. 

"And  I  reckon  that  was  a  mighty  big  surprise;  it 
certainly  was  to  us.  It  took  a  better  lawyer  than 
you,  Berk  Matthews,  to  unravel  that  snarl.  Even 
the  judge  himself  didn't  remember  the  facts." 

"Which  were?" 

"That  to  Cyrus  Talbot  belonged  Addition  and  a 
part  of  Timber  Neck,  while  to  Madison  belonged 
the  Angles  and  the  other  part  of  Timber  Neck ;  that 
was  in  the  first  place  when  they  had  their  inherit- 
ance from  their  father,  you  see.  They  sold  Tim- 


286  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

ber  Neck,  and  then  Madison  retained  the  Angles, 
while  Cyrus  kept  Addition.  Well,  it  seems  the 
Angles,  being  the  home  plantation,  had  always 
gone  to  the  eldest  son.  Madison's  first  child  was  a 
daughter,  and  after  her  birth  Madison's  wife  died. 
Cyrus'  first  child  was  a  son,  and  he  wanted  the 
Angles  for  him  but  Madison  wouldn't  give  it  up, 
but  at  last  he  consented  to  lease  the  place  to  his 
brother.  Later  on  Cyrus'  son  died,  and  he  left  for 
the  West,  selling  out  Addition  to  his  brother  Madi- 
son who  had  married  a  second  time.  Madison  went 
to  Addition  to  live  while  Cyrus  still  clung  to  his 
lease  of  the  Angles.  However,  when  the  house  at 
Addition  was  burned  he  allowed  his  brother  to  go 
back  to  the  homestead  place  to  live.  The  rest  you 
know ;  how  Cyrus  rented  the  lands  to  this  and  that 
tenant,  and  how  the  place  went  to  the  dogs  at  one 
time,  and  how  it  was  finally  discovered  by  Charles 
Jeffreys  to  belong  to  his  mother's  family.  He 
wrote  the  letter  you  remember,  the  answer  to  which 
you  have  shown  us.  There  is  no  use  going  over  all 
that,  for  you  will  see  just  how  the  matter  stands, 
and  Verlinda  will  come  to  her  own." 

Linda  looked  at  Berk  who  smiled  back  at  her  un- 
derstandingly.  "Aunt  Ri,"  said  the  girl,  going 
over  and  laying  her  cheek  against  the  gray  head, 
"Verlinda  has  come  to  her  own  in  more  than  one 
sense."  She  held  out  her  hand  to  Berkley  who 
took  it  and  drew  it  against  his  heart. 


"THE  SPRING  HAS  COME"          287 

"What?"  almost  screamed  Miss  Ri.  "You 
haven't  a  sweetheart  in  the  city,  Berk  Matthews? 
What  did  I  tell  you,  Verlinda  ?  I  knew  that  Bertie 
Bryan  was  making  that  all  up." 

"Not  exactly,  Miss  Ri,"  said  Berkley,  "for  I  did 
give  her  reason  to  think  so." 

"And  why  did  you  do  it  ?  Just  to  make  Verlinda 
unhappy?" 

"Oh,  Aunt  Ri,"  Linda  put  her  hand  over  the  dear 
lady's  lips. 

"I  did  have  a  sweetheart  there,  when  you  were  in 
the  city,"  replied  Berk,  "and  here  she  is,  the  only 
sweetheart  for  me." 

Miss  Ri  pulled  out  her  handkerchief  and  began  to 
mop  her  eyes. 

"I'm  as  glad  as  I  can  be,"  she  wept,  "but  I  am 
tremendously  sorry  for  myself.  You  will  leave  me, 
Verlinda,  and  you  will  take  Phebe,  too.  What  am 
I  to  do?" 

"Oh,  it  will  not  be  for  a  long,  long  time  from 
now,"  said  Linda  consolingly. 

"Yes,  it  will."  Miss  Ri  was  decided.  "Of 
course  it  must  be.  Why  in  the  world  should  you 
wait  ?  You  will  stop  teaching  after  this  year,  any- 
way, for  then  you  will  have  the  farm  to  depend 
upon,  while  as  for  Berk,  he  is  out  of  the  woods, 
I  know  that;  his  mother  told  me  so.  By  the  way, 
Berk,  how  glad  your  mother  will  be.  She  fell  in 
love  with  Linda  at  first  sight.  Oh,  she  told  me  a 


288  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

thing  or  two,  and  that's  why  I  knew  Bertie  Bryan 
was — " 

"But  she  wasn't,  you  remember,"  interposed 
Linda.  "She  thought  so." 

"It  amounts  to  the  same  thing.  Well,  I  shall 
have  to  adopt  somebody.  Never  shall  I  be  happy 
alone  again,  now  that  I  know  what  it  is  to  have  a 
young  thing  about.  I  believe  I  will  send  for  Jef- 
freys, he  is  mighty  forlorn,  and  he  needs  coddling." 

"He  wouldn't  come,"  said  Berkley  triumphantly. 

"You  mean  you  don't  want  him  to ;  you  look  much 
better  when  he  isn't  here  to  give  the  contrast,"  re- 
torted Miss  Ri.  "I  don't  want  him  myself,  to  tell 
the  truth.  See  here,  children,  why  can't  you  both 
come  here  and  live  with  me  till  I  can  find  an  orphan 
who  wants  an  Aunt  Ri?  I'm  speaking  for  my- 
self, for  how  I  am  to  endure  anyone's  cooking 
after  Phebe's  is  more  than  I  can  tell,  and  think 
of  me  rattling  around  in  this  big  house  like  a  dried 
pea  in  a  pod.  I  should  think  you  would  be  sorry 
enough  for  me  to  be  ready  to  do  anything." 

Miss  Ri  was  so  very  unlike  a  dried  pea  that  the 
two  laughed.  "We'll  talk  about  it  some  day,"  said 
Berkley,  "but  just  now — " 

"All  you  want  is  to  be  happy.  Well,"  Miss  Ri 
sighed,  but  immediately  brightened.  "Go  along," 
she  cried,  "I  never  get  mad  with  fools,  you  remem- 
ber, and,  as  I  have  frequently  told  Verlinda,  I  am 
still  thanking  the  Lord  that  I  have  escaped.  Go 


HER    GAZE    FELL    ON    THE    TWO. 


"THE  SPRING  HAS  COME"          289 

along  with  you.  My  brain  has  about  as  much  as  it 
can  stand." 

The  two  stepped  out  upon  the  porch,  but  Miss  Ri 
bustled  after  them.  "Here,  take  this  shawl,  Ver- 
linda ;  it  is  growing  damp.  Don't  stay  out  too  late. 
You'll  stay  to  supper,  Berk,  of  course." 

"Thank  you,  Miss  Ri.  I'll  be  glad  to  come,  but 
I  must  go  to  the  office  for  a  few  moments.  I'll  be 
back,  though." 

The  sun  was  dropping  in  the  west.  Day  was  al- 
most done  for  the  workers  in  the  packing  house 
near  by,  from  which  presently  arose  a  burst  of  song. 
Phebe,  at  her  kitchen  door,  joined  in,  crooning 
softly : 

"I'se  gwine  away  some  o'  dese  days 
'Cross  de  riber  o'  Jordan 
My  Lord,  my  Lord." 

As  she  sang  her  gaze  fell  on  the  two  walking  slowly 
toward  the  river's  brim,  the  man  leaning  over  the 
girl,  her  eyes  lifted  to  his.  Suddenly  Mammy 
clapped  her  hand  over  her  mouth,  then  she  seized 
her  knees,  bending  double  as  she  chuckled  glee- 
fully. "Ain't  it  de  troof,  now,"  she  murmured. 
"She  nuvver  look  dat  away  at  Mr.  Jeffs,  I  say  she 
nuvver.  Bless  my  honey  baby."  Then  she  lifted 
up  her  voice  fairly  drowning  the  rival  singers 
further  away  as  she  chanted: 


290  TALBOT'S  ANGLES 

"Dis  is  de  way  I  long  has  sought — 

Oh,  glory  hallelujah ! 
And  mo'ned  because  I  found  it  not — 
Oh,  glory  hallelujah!" 

"Phebe,"  said  Miss  Ri,  suddenly  interrupting  the 
singing,  "we  have  got  to  have  the  best  supper  you 
ever  cooked." 

"Ain't  it  de  troof,  now,  Miss  Ri,"  Phebe  re- 
sponded with  alacrity.  "Dat's  thes  what  I  say, 
dat's  thes  what  I  say." 

The  shadows  fell  softly,  the  singers  ceased  their 
weird  chant.  Phebe,  too  busy  conferring  with 
Miss  Ri  to  think  of  singing,  bustled  about  the 
kitchen.  Berkley  and  Linda  walked  slowly  to  the 
gate. 

"Berk,"  said  the  girl,  "I  wouldn't  live  anywhere 
but  on  this  blessed  old  Eastern  Sho'  for  the  world, 
would  you?" 

"If  you  were  in  the  anywhere  else,  yes,"  he  an- 
swered. 

She  stood  at  the  gate  watching  his  sturdy  figure 
and  springing  step  as  he  went  off  down  the  street. 
So  would  she  stand  to  watch  him  in  the  years  to 
come.  It  was  all  like  a  wonderful  dream.  The  old 
home  and  the  love  of  Berkley,  what  more  could 
heaven  bestow  upon  her ! 

The  sun  had  disappeared,  but  a  golden  gleam 
rose  and  fell  upon  the  water's  surface  with  each 


"THE  SPRING  HAS  COME"          291 

pulsation  of  the  river's  heart.  The  venturesome 
crocus  had  shut  its  yellow  eye,  the  harbinger  bird 
had  tucked  its  head  under  its  wing,  The  world, 
life,  love,  all  made  a  poem  for  Linda. 

Presently  Mammy  came  waddling  down  the  path 
in  breathless  haste.  "Miss  Lindy,  Miss  Lindy," 
she  panted,  "Miss  Ri  say  yuh  jes'  got  time  to  come 
in  an*  put  on  that  purty  floppity  white  frock.  She 
puttin'  flowers  on  de  table,  an'  we  sho'  gwine  hab  a 
fesibal  dis  night." 

Linda  turned  her  laughing  face  toward  the  old 
house,  lightly  ran  up  the  path,  and  disappeared 
within  the  fan-topped  doorway.  Presently  Miss  Ri 
heard  her  upstairs  singing: 

"The  spring  has  come." 


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